


Oh So Many Years

by FanFictionaries



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Banter, Death, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:53:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 125,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25965412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFictionaries/pseuds/FanFictionaries
Summary: All these many years I've loved youNo one has ever knownNo one has ever known but you aloneA story of friendship, love, loss, heartbreak and finding the strength to carry on. Follow the journey of Hermione Granger and Frederick Weasley as they traverse the shifting, shaking road of a world and two hearts at war.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
Comments: 294
Kudos: 225





	1. Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I hold really dear to my heart, I hope you like it as I continue working on it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With her fourth year at Hogwarts soon approaching, Hermione Granger is another year older and at least three years more mature. After practically living her third year over twice, Hermione feels different. More mature. More daring and more brave. 
> 
> Frederick Weasley meets an entirely new side of Hermione Granger while she stays at the Burrow, there to accompany them to the Quidditch World Cup. She's quicker. Cheekier. Wittier. Fred can't help but wonder if something happened to cause such a sudden change in the swotty Gryffindor, or if she'd truly always been...actually interesting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will now be updating this story every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)!
> 
> Please, please, please feel free to leave kudos and comments. I love hearing people's thoughts and opinions on the story!
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_Surprise, surprise_

_Couldn’t find it in your eyes_

_But I’m sure it’s written all over my face_

* * *

The first rays of sunlight shown through one of the small east facing windows of the Burrow. The brightness woke Hermione Granger softly as it kissed her face with it’s warm embrace, causing her to open her eyes slowly, blinking in the new day. She peered through the glass and watched the sun as it rose over the hill, a golden glow illuminating the trees from behind and casting long shadows onto the lawn below. Hermione snuggled further into the warmth of a large hand-sewn quilt. She loved the Burrow. Sometimes it felt more like home than home did – not to dismiss any of the love and happiness found in her childhood home, but there was something so alive about the charming Weasley house. A loud snore from the red headed girl beside her cut the serenity of the moment short, and Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle. She turned her head to look at the youngest and only female Weasley child sprawled out on her stomach, face mushed into the pillow, mouth open, and a small drool stain beneath her lips. As another snore ripped from the young witch, Hermione reluctantly sat up and stretched her arms wide with a yawn. She’d never get back to sleep with that going on.

“Ginny,” she nudged her companion, but only got a grumble in return as the stubborn witch refused to wake up. Hermione nudged her again, this time a little more roughly.

“What?” Ginny whined, squeezing her eyes tightly.

“It’s time to get up. We have an early start today, remember?” Hermione reminded, but only got a muffled cry of protest as Ginny buried her face in her pillow.

“I expect to see you downstairs in thirty minutes Ginevra, so use your time as you please,” Hermione sighed as she clambered over her friend, not trying to be graceful about it in the slightest. After dressing quickly, she stopped by the bathroom to brush her teeth before she hurried down the rickety and twisting staircase with the thought of a nice cup of tea circulating in her brain. Mrs. Weasley was taking out a batch of muffins from the oven when Hermione reached the last step, the whistling sound of the kettle filling the cosy kitchen. She made her way to the stove to quiet the screeching kettle, as the scent of cinnamon and blueberries drifted through the air.

“Thank you dear.” Mrs. Weasley smiled as she wiped her hands on her apron and drew her wand out from her pocket. With a flick of her wrist the muffins exited their tin and swirled through the air before landing neatly into a basket on the kitchen table. Hermione hummed in response. With familiar motions, she prepared the tea, making sure to grab two cups – one for her and one for Mrs. Weasley. There was something so soothing about the small act. Sitting down at the table, she placed Molly’s tea in front of her and sipped her own as she watched the incredibly energetic mother of seven crack eggs into a bowl. Hermione quietly observed Molly Weasley and wondered how she did it. Having seven children is a lot of work in general, but with her specific bunch of rowdy boys and equally rowdy girl, it took a special kind of person to be strong enough to handle them. After cracking what seemed like at least three dozen eggs into the large mixing bowl, the elder witch waved her wand sending its contents to be whisked and scrambled on the stove top. With a light sigh Molly Weasley turned her attention finally to her tea and then to the young witch across from her.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Molly asked, taking a sip from her cup.

“I was just admiring you Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione admitted sheepishly.

“Oh goodness, whatever for?” Molly laughed.

“I don’t know how you do it, taking care of everyone the way that you do. My parents found it trying just to raise me and I wasn’t even a difficult child. I can’t imagine what they would have done if they had had to raise seven, let alone just Fred and George.” Hermione rubbed at a tea stain on the side of her cup with her thumb.

Molly snorted.

“It’s most certainly not easy, I can guarantee you that. Of course, some days I do wish I could go back to a time where Arthur and I were nineteen and just married—" Molly’s voice turned thick with nostalgia “—but, given the choice, I’d have all my children again because I’m damn good at taking care of the lot.” The two shared a smile, acknowledging the truth in her statement. They sat there for a while, chatting idly, as the eggs scrambled, and bacon flipped on the stove top aided by the occasional flick of Mrs. Weasley’s wand. Conversations like these were common in the early morning of the Burrow whenever Hermione came to stay, as the two of them were usually the first to rise. Their talks often consisted of school, Harry, Ron, and even occasionally fashion and magazines. This morning, however, they had settled into a comfortable silence and Hermione began again to focus on the strength that Mrs. Weasley had. Hermione liked to think that one day she would be just as strong as her. Already she felt stronger, more grown up. It, of course, had everything to do with the sheer amount of time she spent merely _existing_ during her third year. While all her classmates were living their third year happily, she was practically living it twice, three times over. It was surprising the amount of change that could happen to a person in that sort of situation. She assumed it was what had given her the courage to punch Malfoy in the nose that year. She smiled at the thought.

After a while Molly stood up. “Would you mind going and making sure everyone is awake dear? Breakfast is just about ready.”

“Of course, Mrs. Weasley.”

Hermione set her tea down and made her way to the upper levels of the house. She stopped outside of Ginny’s room first and knocked. When she didn’t hear an answer, she opened the door to find her still lying in bed, this time with the blankets pulled completely over her head to shield her eyes from the bright sun.

“Ginevra Weasley! I told you to be out of bed ages ago!” Hermione scolded before grabbing a fist full of the quilt and pulling it off the redhead’s sleeping form. With the sudden loss of warmth, Ginny turned over, staring daggers at the bossy girl in front of her. Their gazes locked as they challenged each other silently – neither one wanting to break eye contact and lose. Much to Ginny’s great annoyance, her stomach let out a ferocious growl that broke her resolve. She huffed and sat up.

“Of all the people for my brother to befriend, he had to go and find a girl who’s just as stubborn as all of us…” Ginny grumbled more to herself as she started to rummage through her clothes. Fully satisfied, Hermione crossed her arms and smiled with a small _hmph._ Reminding Ginny to pack a bag as Mr. Weasley had instructed them to do, she exited the bedroom. She turned to her left and headed up the stairs to the next level where the bedroom of Fred and George resided. Their door was painted a ghastly explosion of purple and orange that Hermione took in for a moment before knocking. The seconds ticked by as she waited for either of the Weasley twins to answer. What should she do? She couldn’t possibly open the door like she had with Ginny. She knocked again, this time placing her ear to the door to listen for any signs of life.

“Can I help you?”

The sound of a voice right in her ear caused Hermione to nearly jump out of her skin. She let out a little yelp as she turned around to come face to face with Frederick Weasley.

“Merlin!” She placed a hand to her chest, feeling the strong thumping of her heart under her fingertips.

“Now, what _do_ we have here? —" Fred crossed his arms boldly and leaned against the wall, blocking Hermione between himself and the door behind her “—Hermione Granger, _spying_?” He spoke the words as if it were the latest scandal in the gossip columns of Witches Weekly.

“I was not spying!” Hermione responded indignantly.

“I don’t know if you know this—" Fred started flatly, not believing her for a second “—but I happen to be an expert on all things spying, snooping, and meddling. You can’t fool me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and scoffed, fighting hard to bite back the response she really wanted to give. Instead, she would not give him the satisfaction of an answer.

“So, why _were_ you trying, and quite poorly I might add, to spy on us?”

Hermione did not respond, instead she mirrored him, crossing her arms, and standing pin straight on her tip toes to gain a level playing field.

“Trying to get us in trouble?”

Again, Hermione did not reply.

“Gain some kind of leverage on us for blackmail?”

Hermione watched as a twitch of irritation flashed across Fred’s face at her lack of response. But then, it transformed into a wicked grin.

“Not trying to catch one of us naked, are you Granger?” Fred looked at her triumphantly, obviously feeling as though he had won the battle. Hermione felt the heat of embarrassment spread across her face and before she could stop herself, she responded with as much bravado as she could.

“Hah! —” she guffawed heartily, throwing her head backwards exaggeratedly “—Why would I _possibly_ want to induce vomiting Frederick?”

Fred stood in front of her, his smug grin melting from his face into a dumbfounded expression. Frederick Weasley, for the first time in his life was utterly speechless. Hermione smirked and without another word pushed past the lanky ginger and continued up the stairs to Ron’s room.

As she distanced herself from Fred, Hermione couldn’t help but let a small rush of excitement flow through her body. She did not know what had caused her to respond that way but the thrill of once and for all shutting up one of the Weasley twins was satisfying enough that she did not care. When Hermione finally made it to the top step, she let out a long exhale and knocked on Ron’s door. Not hearing an answer, she knocked again for safe measure and then opened the door a crack. _This_ door she did feel comfortable opening.

Honestly, why did no one set an alarm? she wondered to herself when she saw her two best friends still asleep in their beds. Ron was spread out like Ginny that morning – arms wide, mouth open, and snoring loudly. Harry on the other hand was tossing and turning, clearly in the middle of a very bad dream. She approached the little cot in the corner cautiously, noticing his pale and clammy skin. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm and shook him, trying to rouse him from his sleep.

“Harry! Harry!” she called his name, hoping it would bring him to. Harry awoke with a start, looking up at her with confusion spread across his face. He said her name as if acknowledging her presence and his reality. Hermione stared hard at the boy. He hadn’t changed much since the last time she saw him, except his hair was longer. It hung damp and matted to his neck and forehead; his scar shone through the dark locks looking pinker than usual. His chest rose and fell harshly as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

“Are you alright?” she asked tentatively.

“Yeah, it was just a bad dream,” he assured her unconvincingly. Hermione nodded and stood, biting her tongue, and giving Harry some space. If he didn’t want to tell her, then she guessed he didn’t have to. With a particularly loud snore coming from Ron’s bed, she picked up a pillow from the cot below her and threw it at his head. Then, marching over to the window, she drew back the curtains letting in the bright daylight that had broken over the hill and risen higher into the sky. Ron jolted off the mattress, hugging his covers up to his chest and looking dazed. He frantically looked around the room before spotting Hermione glaring at him with her hands on her hips.

“Bloody hell, Hermione!”

“Honestly, Ronald, get up! Your mother says breakfast is ready!” she scolded before making her exit and leaving the two boys to get ready.

* * *

Fred couldn’t help but stay rooted to the spot as the little Gryffindor bounded up the stairs away from him. The situation had been all too rare. Fred and George always revelled in their ability to efficiently tease _the_ Miss Hermione Granger. In fact, she was one of their favourite victims because when you teased Granger, you got the most genuine reaction you ever hoped for. Unlike others who would attempt to act as if the picking and the prodding didn’t affect them, Granger made it very known. Her hair would grow twice its size and her face would flush so brilliantly that you’d think someone had jinxed her to make her skin turn red. Over the years she grew more towards the occasional small bout of lecturing on how to treat people, how they should not be so insensitive – blah, blah, blah. So, when the little know-it-all came back with one of the best comebacks he ever heard, he hadn’t known whether to be offended or kiss her square on the mouth.

He walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, snagging a warm muffin out of the basket and taking a large bite before planting himself next to George at the table. He savoured the flavour of the baked good with a grin spread wide across his face. A few moments later, footsteps sounded from the stairs, followed by the entry of his sister, little brother, Harry, and lastly Granger. As he made eye contact with the last of the party, he was met with a scowling and defiant glare, the girl’s chin raised haughtily in the air. George nudged his side, looking between the Granger and himself curiously.

“I’ll explain later,” Fred told his brother.

Still picking at his muffin, Fred observed his family. His mother was flitting about the kitchen, doting on everyone as she continued to cook and clean. His father was casually following her around, gently but persistently trying to convince her to sit down and eat something herself. His little sister was chewing on her food with the reverent and polite façade she put on whenever Harry came about. Usually she was just as bad as Ron, slovenly shovelling her mouth full and practically inhaling her meals. Now, her long-standing crush on The Boy Who Lived was as clear as ever as she daintily nibbled on a piece of bacon and stole not too subtle glances at the subject of her affection. It seemed, however, that Ron’s affection for Hermione did not slow him down in the slightest. He scooped eggs, bacon, and toast into his open mouth as he chatted with Harry. In his animation and general lack of manners, he spat little bits of food out on the plate and table in front of him.

“Honestly, Ronald!” Hermione pushed her contaminated plate away from her in disgust.

“What?” Ron respond lamely.

Fred shifted his focus back to his own food, and his thoughts to his and George’s latest endeavours. This past year they hoped to transition from mindless pranks and jokes to something of actual substance. As they approached their sixth year, they knew they needed to start thinking of the future – they couldn’t very well live with mum and dad forever. There was also the little problem of their O.W.L.s, which were, to quote their mum: ‘so disappointing she could cry’. While Fred wasn’t quite as upset about his scores as his mother was, he did have to admit that it limited their options. When he voiced this concern to his brother, George very adamantly claimed that they were too good to work for anyone but themselves anyways. And thus Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was born. Why try and work for some sad sop when they could own their very own joke shop? So far, they hadn’t told anyone but their closest friends about their plans, but their futures were looking promising already, having designed numerous prototypes over the summer. In fact, order forms were already printed out and ready for the new school year and they were planning on putting together some sickles to take out a small advertisement in the back of a few popular magazines.

“Do you suppose we could invent something that binds mouths closed?” George whispered, motioning towards Ron’s full mouth of food and Hermione’s nagging voice. Fred snickered and started to theorize with his brother on how they could go about that possibility. They were just starting to make a list of avenues to research when their father, Arthur Weasley, stood from the table and proclaimed that it was time to shove off and get moving. Fred and George exchanged a look that meant they would continue the topic later and grabbed their packs before following their father out of the kitchen as they waved goodbye to their mother.

As the group walked leisurely through the garden and into the surrounding wooded area, Fred and George trailed a few yards behind and chatted lightly about the Quidditch World Cup and how lucky they were that their father was able to get such great seats this year. It was, in fact, the first time in ages it was being held in England. The Hungarians versus the Irish! It couldn’t get any more exciting than that. Eventually their conversation faded into a comfortable silence and Fred found himself transfixed by the swishing of a long, frizzy, brown ponytail swinging back and forth like a pendulum. His mind wandered to the enigma that was Hermione Granger. She was considered to be the brightest witch of their age, and that was no exaggeration. The thing about Hermione though, was that while exemplifying all traits of someone uptight, prudish, and entirely against fun, she was best friends with his idiot of a little brother and _the_ Harry Potter. For a witch who was pretty much the poster girl for rules, Hermione Granger got herself into a lot of trouble with the two of them. It was astounding that she hadn’t said goodbye to them and their adventures years ago. Thinking back to their small interaction earlier, he wondered if he had glimpsed a side of Granger that she perhaps only revealed to Ron and Harry.

“Why do you think she stays friends with those two gits?” George asked, reading his mind.

“Beats me what she sees in them. I mean, Harry’s not all that bad, but our ickle Ronikins is a right idiot,” said Fred, letting out a dramatic sigh and shaking his head as his younger brother bob along in front of them. His gaze shifted back to the uptight Gryffindor in front of him as she walked arm in arm with the red headed girl beside her, talking animatedly. He glanced at his baby brother to see him sneaking a look at Granger with big puppy eyes.

“When do you suppose our ickle Ronikins is going to finally man-up and tell Granger that he fancies her?” asked Fred.

They walked forward through the understory watching as Ron continued to sneak seemingly covert glances at Granger.

“Probably never—” George let out a rude snort “—What do you suppose he sees in her?” 

“I’ve seen her doing his homework quite a few times. S’pose I’d fall for any bird that did that for me long enough. Though, I don’t know if the lecturing would be worth it,” Fred grimaced at the idea of being with someone that constantly berated him.

“Merlin, does she sound just like mum when she gets all angry. Could you imagine that?—” George shivered “—Maybe our baby brothers got a little bit of a mommy issue?”

“If he does Georgie, I don’t want to know.”

After a short while of walking through the tall grass, they came around a corner to find a figure standing next to a tree. The stranger was an older man, probably around the same age as his father with grey hair and a slightly shorter, rounder shape. He watched as his father hurried his steps and stretched out his arms in a familiar gesture.

“Amos!” Arthur Weasley shouted out.

“Arthur! Took you long enough,” Amos joked.

“Sorry about that, some of us got a bit of a sleepy start,” Arthur responded before embracing his friend in a brief hug.

A young man swung out of the tree that Amos had been standing near and landed next to him with a surprising amount of ease. Fred recognized him as Cedric Diggory. He was a seventh year Hufflepuff, and while Fred had never met him personally, he always considered him to be a bit of a prat. Then of course, he was still bitter about their loss to Hufflepuff during the previous year’s quidditch season thanks to him. Fred and George stood near the back of the group and watched as introductions were made between everyone, finding more amusement in the comical way in which Amos Diggory fawned over Harry, than spreading niceties themselves. George nudged Fred and pointed towards the two girls in their company who were giggling to each other, peaking at the golden boy of Hufflepuff from under their lashes. Absentmindedly, Fred wondered if Hermione would consider seeing Cedric Diggory as ‘vomit inducing’. Ginny, leaning over, whispered something into Hermione’s ear that made her pull back, cheeks enflamed and hand over her mouth. Fred couldn’t say for certain, but it looked as though Hermione was fighting a laugh. Then quickly she swatted Ginny’s arm and scolded her with a scandalized expression. Ginny merely rolled her eyes and smirked. His sister had always had a bit of a wicked streak. Fred liked to think he and George had played a part in that.

“What was up with you and Granger this morning?” George asked casually once they began to walk again.

Fred regaled the whole event in the hallway in a hushed but animated voice – George interjecting and nodding when appropriate. He was equally as surprised and impressed by Hermione’s response. They began to think of possible explanations for Hermione’s out of character remark. However, they slowly broke down into both more ludicrous and preposterous theories and soon they had fallen far behind the rest. The pair didn’t notice this, of course, until they heard the slightly faded voice of their father calling after them from up ahead. 

“Fred! George! Catch up!”

The two picked up their pace, holding tightly onto their packs and jogging up to the group that circled an old boot. When they approached, they observed Hermione closely for possession, as their latest theory had been that she had somehow been taken over by an evil (and much cooler) spirit. Almost as if she sensed their eyes on her, Hermione turned to face the two with a confused expression.

“Anything I can help you two with?” Her small nose wrinkled as she looked between the two.

“Hmm, what do you think Fred?”

“I don’t know George.”

“I suppose you’d see it in the eyes, yeah?”

“I think you’re right. We’ll have to cross this one off the list.”

Hermione looked at them, a bored expression plastered across her face at their incoherent ramblings. She chewed on her bottom lip, looking as though she were currently engaging in an internal debate. Clearly coming to some conclusion, she crossed her arms in front of her before speaking snootily.

“I would say to take a picture as it would last longer, but I don’t think I’d want to subject that kind of torture to even a reflected image of myself.” 

Her statement hit them like a rogue bludger, but before they could answer, their father yelled once again.

“Fred! George! Hermione! Hands on the boot!”

Quickly, all three reached forward and pressed their hands to the old boot, Fred barely placing a finger onto it before they were pulled upwards. His stomach lurched as he twisted and whirled through the sky, wind and shapes whipping around him, before he landed hard onto the ground. Slowly he sat up, feeling fuzzy and confused. Looking to his right he saw George sitting up as well, his expression matching what he felt exactly. A flash of denim appeared in his line of sight as a pair of legs walked between them. Following them he watched as Granger passed them, trailing behind the rest of the group into the thick of a new forest line.

He looked to George who stared bewildered at frumpy little Granger walking confidently away. And as she walked, all it did was leave them to wonder…

Who is she and what has she done with Hermione Granger?


	2. The Sun Doesn't Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup? A brush with near death? 
> 
> Hermione and Fred find themselves relying on each other more than they ever thought they would as they race through the forest with a menacing wizard at their heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will now be updating this story every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)!
> 
> Please, please, please feel free to leave kudos and comments. I love hearing people's thoughts and opinions on the story!
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_Better find a new place_

_To lay on the ground_

_Can’t stay where you are_

_Or you’re gonna be found_

* * *

The sound of loud music and cheers of delight carried on in the background as Hermione sleepily watched her friends celebrate with a blissful smile on her face. She was drowsy from their long day, and her eyelids dropped as she watched Harry, Ron, Ginny, and the twins jump and sing with glee. The World Cup went by much quicker than she expected but she was okay with that. When she read about the Chad versus Liechtenstein match lasting three days, she hadn’t known if she could handle that much quidditch time. Sure, the whole event was exhilarating and caused her pulse to race from the thrill, but when the players dove too low or dodged flying bludgers, knots formed in her stomach and she found herself holding her breath in fear. Still, nothing the professional quidditch players did rivaled the frights that Harry had given her so far throughout his quidditch career. Sometimes Hermione swore that if he didn’t keep that messy mop-head of his out of trouble, she was just going to off him herself; it would certainly save her the stress of wondering just when he would finally manage to get himself killed. She laughed slightly as Ronald chased after George who had stolen his Viktor Krum action figure and was tossing it easily back and forth with Fred.

Fred and George.

They could be right awful when they wanted to be. They had been a constant source of torment since her first day at Hogwarts. At first it was the standard hazing that one would get as a first year. However, as her bookish tendencies became quite clear to the whole school, the teasing, and the pranks became much more personal. Sure, all of it was good natured at its core. She didn’t believe for one second that Fred and George teased and pranked people because they wanted to hurt them – unlike Draco Malfoy and the rest of his Slytherin goons. No, their main inspiration was almost always to get some sort of reaction, and of course, a laugh. Thinking back to the past three years, Hermione couldn’t count the number of times she’d sat down in the Gryffindor common room and made it halfway through an essay before she realized that her ink had been replaced with disappearing ink. But after a mild break down, the twins always reversed the effects. Then there were the times that she’d sit in the Great Hall, holding onto the book in her hand with all her strength, fighting against the summoning charm one of them had placed on it. It often resulting in many elbows in many bowls of porridge. These occurrences always brought annoyance that crackled to the ends of her curls. She often lectured and scolded them in decrees on how to treat and not treat others. However, despite her best efforts, she never got very far with them.

But things were different now; she was different. Hermione felt older, more confident even, and ultimately less patient.

A loud bang, like a firework going off, sounded from outside, and more yells and cries followed. Mr. Weasley walked over to the entrance of the tent to peer outside.

“Sounds like the Irish have got their pride on,” George joked as he tossed the little Krum doll over Ron’s head. Ron lunged for it, managing to catch it the exact moment that Fred did. The two grappled separate ends of the Bulgarian toy, Ron whinging about how it was his, when Mr. Weasley came walking briskly back into the tent. He grabbed the toy from them both and shoved it into Ron’s chest.

“Stop it! Stop it!” he yelled. At his tone, everyone froze. Mr. Weasley was a well-mannered man. Rarely did he yell, and rarely did he look as worried as he did in that moment. “It’s not the Irish. We’ve got to get out of here.”

Hermione stood, all traces of fatigue and weariness washed away as she began to really listen to the sounds outside of the tent. What she had previously mistaken for exclamations of joy, now sounded more like frightened and panicked cries. Grabbing her wand from the pocket of her discarded jumper, she followed Mr. Weasley and the rest out of the tent. The grounds were chaos. People were running in all directions, some empty handed and others holding onto loved ones or possessions. She could see tents trampled and ablaze as smoke, which had already reached them, floated through the air, creating a hazy atmosphere in the darkness. Far off into the distance, she saw objects floating in the air. Squinting, she realized they weren’t objects at all, but Mr. Roberts, the muggle campground manager, and his family. Their limbs flailed as they jerked side to side in midair, their screams causing every hair on Hermione’s body to stand straight up. She looked down to the ground to see what was levitating them and her eyes were met with several hooded figures in black robes. Their faces were unrecognizable, contorted in a manner she was unfamiliar with.

“Everyone! Get to the forest and hide! Fred, George, you’re the oldest. Make sure everyone gets there safely!” Mr. Weasley barked before heading towards the hooded assailants and floating muggles, his wand at the ready.

Hermione darted towards the forest as fast as she could, but the distance was surprisingly longer than she remembered from earlier that day. She pushed through the crowd of people, her legs on fire and chest burning as she continued in the direction of the trees. Keeping her eyes trained on the three ginger heads in front of her, she ran and ran. Soon they were close to the forest edge and Hermione could have cried with relief. The only thing that lay ahead of them was a hill and then they would be under the safety of the trees. Unfortunately, that was when she heard Ron’s startled cry from behind her.

“Where’s Harry?!”

At this exclamation, Hermione stopped and turned. Harry was nowhere in sight. Her heart sank.

“He was right behind us!” she yelled back. Why is it always Harry? she asked herself.

“We have to go back!” Ron turned, disappearing once again into the cluster of tents. Hermione made to run after him, but before she could take a step, a hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

“Look out!”

A blast of green light shot through the air where she had been. She gaped at the empty space for a fraction of a second before turning to look up at the person that had pulled her out of the way. Fred stood next to her, his eyes wide and terrified as she looked past her. Following his gaze, she saw the source of the spell – a person striding towards them large and menacingly. Judging by the size, she could only assume it was a man, as he cut a great and intimidating figure even from a distance. The wizard raised his wand to send another spell shooting towards the pair, but Hermione and Fred were too quick. Hermione raised her wand and blocked his spell as Fred sent a stunning spell in the man’s direction. Turning, they sprinted up the hill towards the forest. Fueled by adrenaline, they fired all the defensive spells they knew as they ran. Neither bothered to even look, they just hoped it would be enough to deter their attacker. When they reached the cover of the forest, they ceased fire, but they didn’t let up their pace. Hermione ran until her legs ached and her chest burned and then she ran more. Foot in front of foot, breath after breath. She could feel herself becoming lightheaded and her sides were beginning to cramp. Thinking on her feet, she serpentined through the trees, hoping that they would act as natural shields from any unfriendly spells as her pace began to falter.

Soon the trees and understory thickened, slowing them down but giving Hermione hope that it was doing the same to the wizard chasing them. As she pushed herself through a cluster of large bushes that snagged at her clothes and scraped at her face, she felt Fred’s hand on her wrist, pulling her forward and behind a large alcove of fallen trees on the other side. They sank down into the earth, pushing themselves as far into the small cave-like space the trees had made. Hermione could feel the bark scratching through her t-shirt and a large knot sticking into her spine as she lay under the logs, wishing that she could just dissolve into the wood and soil and make herself invisible. Fred was pressed in close to her, his breath falling hot and quick on her neck. Hermione tried her best to keep her breathing even; in through her nose and out through her mouth, but it was difficult. She froze when she heard footsteps approach quickly and then slow as they grew nearer. A twig snapped nearby, and she covered her mouth as an involuntary gasp escaped her lips. It was the wizard from before, she could feel it. He was going to find them. He was going to find them and then he was going to find Harry and Ron. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, she wanted to be anywhere but there, in that forest. Hermione and Fred stared at each other as they held their breaths, lying on the cold ground, waiting. Waiting for something, anything to happen.

After what felt like hours, the dark wizard gave up his pursuit. His footsteps started again, this time fading away in the opposite direction. They stayed like that, unmoving and gazing into each other’s eyes for quite some time, afraid that they were not yet alone. The browns, greens, and ambers of Fred’s hazel eyes seemed to swirl together, and after some time Hermione’s vision began to blur. She didn’t even realize that she hadn’t been blinking. Slowly she let her eyelids fall, closing her eyes and letting out a small breath. It was then that the tall ginger exhaled in relief and leaned his head forward, his forehead resting against hers. Hermione breathed deep and felt awash in euphoria at the thought that they had not been found.

“You saved my life Granger,” Fred stated in a hushed tone, his voice laced with disbelief.

“You saved mine as well. So, don’t go swooning quite yet,” Hermione quipped back, fighting a small smirk on her lips at her own joke. Fred pulled back, looking at her with a bewildered expression, similar to the one he had given her in the hallway that morning, before pushing himself back and out from under the fallen trees with a light snort.

“Who do you suppose those guys were?” he asked, running a hand through his shaggy hair.

“I have an idea, I just hope I’m wrong,” Hermione responded heavily as she followed him out of their hiding spot. “Come on then.” She stood up and began to move towards the direction in which they had come.

“What do you mean, ‘come on then’? Are you completely mental?” Fred yelled after her. Hermione knew his reaction was reasonable. Every fiber of her being told her to stay and wait. Wait till it was safe and Mr. Weasley came back to get them. But harry was out there, Ron was too. Who knew what kind of trouble they were in. If something happened to them, well Hermione wouldn’t be able to live with herself. Worried that Fred would try and stop her, she chose her words carefully.

“Come on Frederick, where’s your Gryffindor courage?” she questioned him dangerously, looking over her shoulder at the boy. She raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to come with her and was pleased when she saw an insulted but challenging expression on his face.

“Good, let’s just hope we find Ron and Harry first.”

A chill ran down her spine at the thought of one of the cloaked wizards or witches getting their hands on her two best friends. Sure, Harry was a fairly gifted wizard, but Hermione wasn’t quite sure how much of that was actual talent, and how much was pure luck. He had power, the strength of his patronus last year against the dementors was proof enough, but that didn’t mean he knew enough spells or had enough experience to protect himself against a group of fully grown wizards. He was only fourteen. Ron, on the other hand was almost completely useless. While he did make up for his lack of knowledge in heart and loyalty, there was still no way she was going to leave him to defend _himself_ , let alone the Boy Who Lived. Then again, what did she know about dueling and defending? There had been the dueling club second year, and of course escaping a werewolf last year, but she had no real experience in fighting off dark wizards and witches firsthand. Unless the quick and messy incident not one hour ago counted.

The stitch that had formed in her side earlier still ached as she jogged at a steady pace through the forest, her wand gripped tightly in her hand. She focused on the sound of Fred’s feet, in step with hers, crunching the fallen leaves and twigs of the understory. They slowed as they approached the edge of the forest. Walking quietly and with careful placement of her feet, she scanned her surroundings and strained her ears, searching for signs of anyone nearby.

“I think the coast is clear,” Fred whispered behind her, but Hermione thought differently. Voices in the distance sounded faintly through the air. She put a hand up, ordering Fred to stay silent. Ever so slightly she peaked around a tree right on the line of the forest and swept her gaze across the empty campground. What had once been a vibrant and joyful field of tents and laughter, now looked like the remnant of a war zone. Tents were trampled, singed, and dirty. All the fires had been put out, but smoke still hung in the air like a heavy curtain. Belongings were strewn across the ground and it was quiet. So quiet. Except for two small but distinct voices. Hermione’s heart leapt and then soared when she saw the black and ginger hair of two boys walking up the hill. It was them. They were safe. She bolted from behind the tree towards the pair, giving no thought to the Weasley yelling after her.

“Ron! Harry! Are you alright?!” she asked worriedly as she sprinted towards them and pulled them into a tight hug. She squeezed them with all of her strength, never feeling so happy to see them alive and in one piece.

“We’re fine ‘Mione. We’re fine,” Ron responded through a strained voice. Hearing the slight annoyance in his tone, Hermione pulled back and proceeded to wallop the arrogant git.

“Ronald Weasley! Don’t. You. Ever. Run. Off. Like. That. Without. Me. Again!” She punctuated each word with a hit to somewhere on his person as he shielded himself behind raised arms.

“Ow! Hermione! Stop! Stop!” Ron yelled. At his plea, but feeling much better, she stopped.

“You could have died Ron and you just left me!” 

“Well I didn’t die, and I didn’t leave you! You had Fred! Besides, Harry needed me!” he argued back.

“And you! –” She turned her attention back to Harry now, who looked disappointed that he hadn’t escaped her wrath “—Where were you? What happened?”

“Someone knocked me over and I lost my glasses, I couldn’t very well run when I couldn’t see, Hermione,” Harry responded flatly. His reason was probably the best reason he could have had, and Hermione shuffled her feet, feeling a bit foolish.

“I don’t mean to interrupt this oddly violent reunion but does anyone else see that?” Fred pointed adjacent to the forest from which they had just left where a green jet of light was shooting through the sky. Hermione gaped with enrapt horror as the shape of a skull appeared high above them. Slowly, a serpent slithered menacingly out of the mouth and Hermione knew that she had been right. She knew exactly who the attackers had been that night, and she knew exactly what that symbol represented.

From behind her, she heard Harry cry out in pain. She turned her head in alarm to find Harry lying on the ground, clutching at his scar. Ron and Fred were at his side, looks of concern directed at him and then at her. Hermione looked back up at the smoky green image once more before moving towards Harry, taking his hand in hers.

“It’s alright Harry, it’s alright,” she reassured him as he groaned through his teeth.

“What is that thing?!” Harry questioned her, still clutching his head, but starting to calm down.

“Harry, that’s the Dark mark. It’s _his_ mark,” Hermione informed him, taken aback that he had no idea.

“So those men tonight, the ones in the masks?” Harry pushed himself up to a standing position. Hermione followed him, her hand at his elbow, ready to help if need be.

“Death Eaters,” Fred spoke up, his voice filled with hate and disbelief. Hermione cringed at the word. It was the one word she had been avoiding all night, even in her own mind. From the moment she saw the distorted faces of the group from afar, attacking those innocent muggles, she knew. She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but she knew.

“They’re what then? His followers?” Harry asked, and Hermione could hear the anger bubbling up behind his words.

They nodded.

Ron stepped forward and placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. The weight of Fred’s hand on her shoulder too, made Hermione turn in surprise. Looking to her left, Fred tightened his grip, and he gave her a solemn but reassuring look.

“We should get back to the forest, try and find Ginny and George,” Fred commented.

They nodded again.

As they made their way back up the hill towards the forest, it took all of Hermione’s strength not to look back up into the deep cavernous eyes of the skull as the snake slithered around it, flicking its tongue out menacingly. A shiver of relief ran down her spine once they were finally under the protection of the trees. The soft brush of fabric brought her attention up from the ground. Fred had divested himself of his cardigan and placed it over her. She uncrossed her arms and slipped them into the long sleeves, pulling them up so that she could readily use her wand—light now emanating from the end as the sky had grown dark around them. They had only been walking for a few minutes when the sound of whispers came from up ahead. Hermione’s heart clenched again at the possibility of who it could be. However, her fears were quickly squashed as they came upon the small figure of a house elf a few moments later.

“Winky?” Hermione was surprised to see the personal house elf of ministry official Bartemius Crouch all alone in the middle of the woods. The small elf gave a start at her name and turned towards them with wide, fright filled eyes.

“Winky, are you alright?” Hermione asked, moving forward to crouch in front of the poor creature. She was shivering and holding back whimpers as she looked back at Hermione.

“Winky is sorry. Winky was supposed to stay in the tent but Winky was so scared!” the house elf exclaimed, fighting back tears of guilt. Hermione’s heart broke slightly at the state of Winky in front of her. She had last seen Winky during the match. The poor house elf had been scared then too, but instead it had been because her master, Bartemius Crouch, had forced her to save his seat all the way at the top of the stadium when she was deathly afraid of heights. The poor thing had covered her eyes the entire time, but she had not moved. Instead she stayed rooted to the spot through the whole event like a loyal house elf, only for Mr. Crouch to never even show up. The interaction had left a sour taste in her mouth and now, this only worsened the taste.

“It’s alright Winky. Why don’t you stay with us until we can find your…master,” she hesitated to say the words. They felt foreign in her mouth. However, Winky did not answer, instead she cried softly into her pale, long-fingered palms. Hermione looked up at the three boys around her for help, but she heard a twig snap not far away and her senses went on high alert.

“Get down!” she cried, diving forward onto the three boys.

“STUPEFY!” multiple voices bellowed the spell as she, Harry, Fred, and Ron hit the ground.

* * *

“Stop! Stop! Those are my sons! Those are my sons!” Fred heard the familiar sound of his father’s voice and looked up to see the middle-aged man running towards them. His father reached his side, helping him stand. Once on his feet, Fred brushed his father off, reassuring him that he was fine. Glancing down at the forest floor, he saw the other three sitting up looking shaken but altogether unscathed. His eyes then traveled to the small, still body of Winky the house elf lying limp on the hard ground. She had not ducked when Granger warned them and as a result the small little creature took the brunt of the stunning spells. Looking over to Granger, he noticed she too was staring at Winky. He reached down and grabbed her elbow gently, helping her to stand. She swayed a bit, stumbling before finding her footing. Even once Fred was confident Granger could stand on her own, he did not let go of her. Instead, he felt a strange sense of protectiveness and wrapped arm around her shoulders instead. A few tears fell down her cheek.

“Is she alright?” Granger mumbled. Fred was confused by her question until he realized she was still looking at Winky.

“Yeah, Granger. She’s alright. Just stunned. House elves are tougher than they look. Trust me.” He rubbed her back lightly and looked over to see Ron and Harry staring at him with confused expressions. Fred shrugged at them as if to say, ‘What about it?’. Sure, he wasn’t the most sensitive person, but he also wasn’t heartless, and she was crying. What else was he supposed to do?

“Which of you did it?! Which of you conjured it?!” the accusing voice of Barty Crouch, head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, turned his attention to the smarmy wizard, with his black bowler hat and smart robes. Surrounding them were several wizards and witches, who he could only assume were ministry workers. Some of them he noticed, like Barty Crouch, Ludo Bagman, Amos Diggory, and his father of course. They had all long since lowered their wands once they realized who they were but Barty’s expression was manic as he held his wand high. Instinctively Fred held Granger tighter and shifted himself between her and the older wizard.

“Barty, they’re just kids,” his father spoke up, shifting in front of Ron and Harry, and looking at his fellow Ministry worker in bewilderment.

“Well if they didn’t conjure it, then who did, Arthur?” Barty turned his attention to Arthur now.

“Sir, there’s a house elf over here!” a voice called from behind them where Winky lay. Fred turned to see a stout ministry witch with curly blonde hair reviving Winky. Slowly Winky opened her eyes and blinked. Granger let out a ragged breath and Fred pulled her closer into his side. When the little elf was fully conscious, she stood shakily and looked up at her master reliantly. Barty Crouch stared down at her; his face fell into a morose expression.

“Master!” Winky ran to her master and threw herself as his feet, “Winky is so sorry sir. Winky knows she was supposed to stay in the tent, but she was so scared!” Crouch continued to stare at his house elf in sullen disbelief. The stout witch that had discovered Winky made her way over to Crouch’s side and held out a wand.

“She had this.”

“Hey! That’s my wand!” exclaimed Harry, stepping forward to seize his wand from Barty Crouch, only to be pushed away.

“What was she doing with your wand mate?” Ron asked, turning to look at Harry. 

“I don’t know…I honestly don’t remember the last time I had it,” Harry scratched the back of his head.

“Harry! That’s incredibly irresponsible,” Granger scolded. Fred was glad to hear her perk up, even if it were to chastise.

Winky’s groveling continued to rise in volume as she sobbed at her master’s feet. “Stop it. Stop it! Get up!” Bartemius Crouch barked, kicking Winky off of his shoes.

“What were you doing with this?!” Harry’s wand was clenched in his fist as he shook it in Winky’s face.

“Wi-Winky found it sir—” Winky blew her nose on her dirty rag clothing “—It was laying on the ground. Right over there, sir.” She pointed a few meters further into the forest.

“Did you cast that spell?!” Crouch pointed angrily up into the sky and while they couldn’t see the swirling green skull and snake from where they were, they were all still very aware of its presence.

“N-no sir!” Winky cried, dropping to her knees, and leaning forward until her face was buried into the dirt and twigs. “Never sir! Winky w-would never!”

“Barty, there’s really only one way to know—" Amos Diggory spoke up and he approached Crouch with his hand extended “—May I?”

Barty Crouch took a deep breath and stood straight, looking around at them all before turning to Amos and nodding. They all watched with bated breath as Amos placed the tip of his wand to Harry’s and solemnly spoke.

“ _Prior Incantato.”_

Everyone gasped. A vivid green smoke swirled from the end of Harry’s wand and all eyes were back on Winky as she let out a bone chilling sob. Crouch’s expression had turned to stone “Dawlish, Williamson, please escort Winky off of the ground.”

Fred was taken aback at Crouch’s response. There was no way that Winky was responsible for producing You-Know-Who’s mark. It didn’t make any sense. And what was Crouch planning to do with her? Send her to Azkaban? They didn’t even know if she was the one that cast the spell! Apparently, Granger had the same idea, because she stepped out of his grasp and towards Bartemius Crouch with the courage of a lion.

“Wait—” she cried out, coming up short when all eyes turned to her in an instant “—just because the wand produced the spell doesn’t mean that Winky was the one to cast it. You have no way of proving it and if what Winky says is true and she did find it then that means anyone could have used Harry’s wand to cast the spell!”

“Yes, Hermione, but we have no wa—"Arthur began but was cut off by Granger as she seemed to swell with confidence.

“But we do Mr. Weasley! –” she turned to Crouch “—Mr. Crouch, Winky is your house elf. If you order her to tell you the truth, she will!”

Fred was impressed but not surprised that Granger had found a way to save the house elf. He let out a breath of relief when Crouch listened to her and looked back to Winky who had not lifted her head from the ground since she last spoke.

“Winky—" the house elf lifted her head at the sound of her master’s voice and looked up at him with big watery eyes “—I order you to tell me the truth. Did you use this wand to cast _any_ spells?”

“No sir. Winky would never,” she answered sincerely.

“Very well,” Crouch sighed. “Winky, you directly disobeyed my orders to stay in the tent. Not only that – you have embarrassed and disgraced me. I have no choice but to relinquish you.”

Fred stared in shock as Winky sobbed even louder, clinging to her master’s leg, and pleading with him. The worst thing in the world for some house elves was the shame of unemployment. Crouch shook her from his leg, Winky landing hard on the ground, and walked forward to hand Harry his wand back.

“Diggory, Dawlish, Perkins, you three take over scanning the eastward boundary. Weasley, Williamson, you come with me to the west,” Crouch commanded, giving no attention to the house elf that was no longer his.

“Actually sir, I think I’m going to take care of my children and their friends. Make sure they get home safely,” said Arthur, putting a hand on Fred and Ron’s shoulders. Crouch nodded curtly and then turned on his heel.

“Come on, let’s go find the others,” suggested his father and started further into the forest with Harry and Ron in tow. Fred followed as well, hanging back to keep pace with Granger who kept looking back to the small figure of Winky lying on the ground crying. He wondered for a moment if someone should be responsible for the poor thing. Surely, she couldn’t just be left in the woods to fend for herself. But then he remembered that house elves had their own magic, and if Winky had even an ounce of sense, she’d find her way out eventually. Under the calming protection of his father, Fred though for the first time that night of his brother George. He wondered if George and Ginny had gotten far enough away and if they were alright. Of course, he knew in his heart that if something had happened to George, he’d know. He’d feel it in a very…twin way he supposed. So, the fact that he didn’t feel anything but the receding adrenaline in his body and the twinge of sadness for Winky, gave him hope. He heard a small sniffle come from the witch beside him and turned to see tears silently streaming down Granger’s face. The tears left streaks down her dirt smudged skin, and he noticed a few leaves stuck in her bushy curls. Casually, he reached out and plucked the leaves.

“Alright Granger?” he asked. She nodded but kept her gaze on the path ahead of them as she wiped away her tears with the heel of her palm.


	3. Be My Somebody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of the Quidditch World Cup seem like a distant memory for everyone. Everyone except Hermione Granger. Night before the group of Gryffindors are to leave on the Hogwarts Express, Hermione Granger finds herself pleasantly distracted from the nightmares she's endured every since her chase in the forest with Frederick Weasley. Who knew Fred could be such pleasant company?
> 
> Fred ponders on his second to last year at Hogwarts and his plans for the future, while juggling the complicated relationship he has with Angelina and his ever growing need to figure out the enigma that is Hermione Granger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will now be updating this story every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)!
> 
> Please, please, please feel free to leave kudos and comments. I love hearing people's thoughts and opinions on the story!
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_Last night was a record to be broken_   
_It broke all over the kitchen floor_   
_Oh no, don't you go_   
_I'm coming back with a rag_   
_To wipe away the haze from the days_   
_We've forgotten all about_

* * *

The clock ticked but it did not track the time, as Hermione sat in the empty living room of the Weasley home. Lazily, she scanned the pages of the book in her lap, but it was not enough to keep her eyes from drooping with the weight of sleep. It was far past bedtime and everyone else had gone to sleep hours ago. Everyone except Hermione. Instead, she had stayed awake with her charms book in her lap and the looming fear of night in the back of her mind. It had been exactly seven days and six nights since the Quidditch World Cup and for six nights she had dreamed of it. Or to be more exact, she had endured nightmares of it. Every time she allowed herself to sleep, she was plagued by dark hooded figures and swirling green snakes. She tried everything she could to combat it: warm milk, exercise, meditation, she even spent all her time studying just to fill her mind with things other than dark witches and wizards, but it seemed that nothing was going to work. So instead, she had decided to just forgo sleep altogether. Again, her mind was drifting as she read and reread the words on the page in front of her. With a sigh, she closed the book and set it beside her before leaning forward in her seat and resting her face in her hands. She was tired. But she was also afraid, and she couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t like that night had been the first time in her life that she had been placed in mortal danger. In fact, she had probably faced things that many adults hadn’t. Yet, it seemed that her encounter with You-Know-Who’s followers, or Death Eaters as the Daily Prophet had named them in their article on the attack, had been a turning point. She just felt…different. The whole situation had felt different. More real. And she had been left with a looming sense of dread ever since. With a yawn, she stood and headed towards the kitchen. Perhaps a cup of tea would help her stay awake.

Stumbling through the door to the kitchen on weary limbs, she walked over to the kettle and filled it with water before placing it on the stove and reaching to grab a mug from the cupboard.

“Burning the midnight oil Granger?”

The mug slipped from her fingers as she jumped in surprise. Turning she saw one of the twins standing at the bottom of the staircase, looking at her with an amused expression. Slowly he moved further into the kitchen and Hermione identified him as Fred.

“Merlin, Frederick. You scared me,” she whispered harshly, bending to pick up the broken shards of ceramic.

“Allow me—" Fred pulled his wand from his pocket “— _Reparo_.” The pieces of the mug lifted from the ground and swirled to the air, fusing together until it formed a singular form and landed gently in Hermione’s hand.

“You’re really not allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts Frederick,” she scolded, staring down at the cup in her hands.

“Thank you, Fred. You’re too kind, Fred—” he mocked in a high-pitched voice that Hermione could only assume was supposed to be her “—That rule really only applies to muggleborns, Granger. It’s hard for the ministry to really know who’s doing what when a house is filled with nothing but witches and wizards.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes, and turning back to the counter. She set the mug down gently, careful not to break it once again and closed her eyes, trying not to focus on the irritation that Fred interrupting her had elicited. The last thing she wanted was a rowdy Fred Weasley attempting to play mind games at this time of night. However, this was his home and not hers. He was perfectly allowed to wander wherever he liked, whenever he liked.

“I was just making some tea. Would you like some?” she asked politely, turning back to face the tall and lanky boy. Fred had moved even further into the kitchen and was leaning against the table, looking at her with an expression that she couldn’t quite discern. It was almost like he was trying to figure something out. Wordlessly he pushed away from the table and grabbed a second mug from the cupboard above her. He placed it on the counter beside hers and looked down at her, still with the same indiscernible expression.

“I got it, why don’t you sit down?”

Hermione’s brain skipped for a second at the uncharacteristically kind gesture.

“I’m perfectly capable of making my own cup of tea Frederick, and besides—"

“—and besides, you’re a guest in this house and it’s the hospitable thing to do.”

Hermione looked up at Fred suspiciously causing him to chuckle, “I’m not going to poison your tea Granger. Contrary to what mum says, she did manage to teach George and me some manners.”

Hermione took another second to analyze the risk before she nodded and sat down at the table, watching as Fred grabbed the boiling kettle and tea. She guessed it wasn’t too out of character for him to be kind. After all, the night of the Quidditch World Cup he had been very kind. He had given her his cardigan and he had comforted her when she had been scared and upset. He had even gotten into a fight for her, her second year when Draco Malfoy had called her a mudblood. Hermione figured it was his instinct as an older brother that led him to feel protective of her. She was only two years older than Ginny and a year older than Ron. It was nice to think of herself as part of a family like that. Hermione didn’t have any brothers or sisters and being so far from home all the time, she often missed that familial connection. But she had the Weasleys and Harry, and while she certainly loved them like family she often wondered if they felt the same way about her. 

“How do you take your tea?” Fred’s voice broke through her thoughts and she looked up to see him looking at her again, this time with a more casual and friendly expression.

“Oh, 5 spoons of sugar and no cream please.”

“Bit of a sweet tooth there, Granger?” Fred laughed, causing Hermione to blush slightly.

“Yeah—" she laughed nervously “—my parents are always warning me about cavities, but I don’t really listen.”

“Cavi—?” Fred asked confusedly as he carried the two mugs of tea to the table.

“Cavities. They’re a muggle disease that affect your teeth. It makes them rot out of your head. You get them when you don’t brush your teeth or from eating too much sugar.” Hermione accepted her mug of tea from Fred appreciatively and brought it to her lips, blowing on the hot liquid before taking a small sip. It was perfectly sweet and just the way she liked it. Fred nodded at her explanation and took a sip from his mug as well.

“I like my tea the opposite, milk and no sugar—" he placed his mug down on the table, his large hands wrapping almost all the way around it “—I’ve never been much of a fan of sweets myself. George is though.”

Uncomfortable silence filled the room, as they sat drinking their tea. Both of them unsure of what to say to other.

“I never thanked you for the other night,” Hermione admitted, wondering why that had been the first thing to pop into her mind for conversation. She really didn’t want to talk about what had happened that night, so why had she said that?

“For what?” Fred asked casually, taking another sip of his tea.

“For lending me your cardigan. It was very…gentlemanly of you.” Fred had given her an out and she had gladly taken it.

“Well as long as you don’t go skipping about school telling everyone how much of a gentleman I am, then I guess we’re even,” he gave her a playful wink and a friendly smile. She smiled in return, finding it hard not to when Fred’s was so infectious.

“I’m sorry I haven’t gotten it back to you yet, but I wanted to wash it first and admittedly, it’s quite comfortable. I’ll be sad to give it up,” Hermione confessed.

“That’s because mum made it. Her knitting is the best.”

“Harry and Ron always say that about their Christmas jumpers as well.”

“Don’t you have one?” Fred asked, his voice a tone of surprise. Hermione shook her head, blushing in embarrassment. No, she had not received a jumper from Mrs. Weasley. Something that she tried not to think about every Christmas when Harry and Ron showed her their new patterns and designs. She knew that it shouldn’t hurt her. It made sense. Harry had no family beside his horrid aunt and uncle, and Mrs. Weasley therefore felt as though she were responsible for his wellbeing. Hermione on the other hand had two very loving parents that adored her. She was not left wanting for much of anything. However, that didn’t stop her from feeling a small pang of jealousy every year.

“So, what are you doing up so late?” Hermione changed the subject, looking down into her tea and then back up at Fred. He looked tired, something she had never seen on the jovial face of the well-known trickster. Small bags hung under his hazel eyes and his pale skin looked a tinge grey, or maybe it was just the poor, lamp lit kitchen casting shadows. Fred rubbed his eyes with his hands and took a deep breath.

“I never sleep well the night before the first day of school.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I guess it started the first couple of years just because I was so excited but now it’s almost a tradition. It’s like my body knows, even if I’m not as excited as I used to be—” his laugh had a bitter edge to it as he brought his mug back up to his lips and took a long gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed “—What about you? I don’t normally have company these nights.”

Hermione brought her mug up to her lips, taking a sip of her tea to buy time before answering, “I guess I just have too much on my mind.”

Fred let out a barking laugh.

“What?” Hermione asked, wondering what about her answer had been so amusing.

“Nothing, there’s just something really amusing about _you_ having too much on your mind. Is that even possible?” Fred raised an eyebrow amusedly.

“I know a full and active mind is a foreign concept to you Frederick but yes, it is entirely possible,” Hermione wanted to swallow her tongue as soon as she said the words. So far, she had had the advantage of a swift exit every time she had made a joke at his expense. Now, however, with Fred sitting across from her looking at her as if she were a new species he had just discovered, she wasn’t sure if he was going to write extensive studies on her or poach her for sport. All her worries were washed away, however, when Fred burst out into laughter. The tension flooded from her body and she joined him, laughing until her eyes watered.

“That was a good one Granger,” Fred chuckled. “Are you thinking of dropping out of Hogwarts and becoming a comedian now?”

“No, that seems more your speed.” Hermione smirked and placed her mug onto the table, leaning back on the bench and crossing her arms.

“Oh, a clown then. You’ve definitely got the hair for it.”

Usually Hermione would have been irate at his comment but instead she found herself leaning forward across the table and ruffling Fred’s shaggy red hair, “Only if you lend me this ridiculous color. It’s so bright and obnoxious, I wouldn’t even need to put the nose on.”

Fred shooed her hands away as she giggled. “Oh, I’m sure all my family would _love_ to hear that.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Hermione gasped, placing her hands on her hips and looking down at his sitting figure.

“Alright, you’re right. I wouldn’t, but only because I love them and wouldn’t dream of ruining their perfect image of you.” He placed a hand over his heart in mocking sincerity that only caused them both to chuckle again as Hermione sat back down.

“Oh please, I’m far from perfect,” she rolled her eyes and shook her head at the ridiculous notion, looking down into her tea as the atmosphere around them settled into a comfortable silence. Gone was the uneasy tension from before and in its place was a warm familiarity. She rested her chin on the heel of her palm and quietly sipped her tea as they sat, just enjoying the peaceful kitchen – so different then from the usual chaos it housed. It wasn’t until she felt a warm hand touch her forearm that she realized she had closed her eyes and was dozing. She blinked rapidly, taking in the sight of Fred across the table from her, giving her an amused smile.

“I think it’s time for bed,” he spoke softly, and Hermione nodded in response, standing slowly and heading towards the stairs. She looked back to see Fred carrying their mugs to the sink.

“Goodnight Fred.”

“Goodnight Hermione.”

* * *

“The nerve of the woman!” George cried in outrage as he slid the compartment door open and plopped himself down next to Alicia.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Lee asked, looking through a pile of chocolate frog cards on his lap.

“We had all our order forms made out for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and a sizable inventory packed and ready to take with us, and the vile woman confiscated the whole lot this morning!” George huffed in frustration. “We spent all night getting ready!”

“ _I_ spent all night getting ready. _You_ fell asleep early,” Fred reminded his brother, but was ignored as George pouted looking out the window.

“I have half a mind to test out some new products on her.”

“She didn’t get everything Georgie. Besides, do you really think it’s wise to prank our own dear, sweet mum? Especially after she was so apologetic about scolding us for our O.W.L.’s when we got back from the Cup?” Fred raised an eyebrow at his twin and closed the compartment behind him before sitting down next to Angelina.

She flashed him a small smirk and nudged his side with an elbow. Holding out a hand, her offered him some jelly slugs to which he declined politely. Angelina was one of his oldest friends, he had known her since his first year at Hogwarts and they had become close friends through the hours and hours of Quidditch practice that their captain, Oliver Wood, had put them through. So, it made sense that they shared their first kiss in fourth year behind the quidditch pitch. _I don’t want my first kiss to be awkward and horrible with someone I actually fancy_ , she said before she had leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Then, last year, in their fifth year, it seemed like a reasonable step when they lost their virginities to each other too. _Why not just get it out of the way? I don’t want to be a virgin forever_ , she confessed to him one night when they were both up late in the common room. Fred of course wasn’t going to argue with her, his teenage hormones telling him to grasp every opportunity as tightly as a jinxed broomstick. It, of course, had been a mess of limbs and fumbling lips that ended much too early for his liking. Since then, something that was supposed to have been a one-time thing turned into a regular activity.

“Say, do we get any of these brilliant inventions of yours for free? Because, you know, we’re your friends,” Lee asked, putting his feet up in the windowsill of the train.

“Not a chance!” Fred barked, grabbing a jelly slug from Angelina’s lap and throwing it at the boy sitting opposite him.

“Really? Not even for me?” Angelina looked up at him through her lashes, a sarcastic attempt at seduction he was very much immune to.

“Especially not for you,” he all but growled back teasingly. She laughed in his face as she rolled her eyes and snagged a chocolate frog from Lee.

“Hey! I didn’t say you could have one of those _Angelina Johnson_ ,” Lee stressed her whole name accusingly, crossing his arms in distaste.

“I didn’t ask, _Lee Jordan_ ,” she mocked his scolding tone, causing the whole compartment to break out into laughter – even George, who seemed to be in better spirits as he indulged in the sweets being passed throughout the compartment. While Fred was also particularly angry with their mother, he couldn’t be too angry as she hadn’t done irreparable damage. They had won some money off their father’s friend, Ludo Bagman, at the Quidditch World Cup. It would be more than enough to replace everything she had gotten rid of and then some.

It had been surprising how quickly everything went back to normal after the World Cup. When they arrived home, their mother almost hugged them half to death, going on and on about how he and George could have died, and how she was sorry she yelled at them all the time. She even apologized about criticizing their O.W.L.s, which was surprising because Fred secretly agreed with her about how pitiful they were. That of course, didn’t stop her from searching their trunks and emptying their pockets before they left for the Hogwarts Express, but he couldn’t really be mad at her. She had looked so upset, and he hated seeing her truly upset. George…he cared a little less.

The five of them sat for a while, Angelina and Alicia chatting about some article they had read in Witches Weekly, George and Lee trading Chocolate Frog cards they had collected over the summer, and Fred looking out the window, watching as the scenery passed by. The rushing sounds of the train seemed to blur into a humming white noise that blended nicely with the laughter and shouts of his friends and the other students running through the train. Quickly, he felt his eyes begin to droop and a yawn escaped his lungs. He hadn’t slept at all the night before. He blamed Granger almost entirely for it. He had just gone downstairs to grab a glass of water after tossing and turning in bed for a few hours, and instead of finding the quiet solace of an empty kitchen, she had been there. It should have surprised him to find her standing there in front of the stove, baggy pants and shirt engulfing her small frame almost as much as her big, bushy hair did. Everything about Hermione was big: big clothes, big hair, big teeth, big eyes, big mouth, big brain. In fact, the only thing that wasn’t big about her was her stature, which he found to be quite funny. All those big features on such a small, little girl – it was almost so comical she might as well not be real. Or at least that’s what he thought when he stood watching her from the bottom of the staircase before he decided to let his presence be known. For a second, he had considered just turning around and going back to bed, but then thoughts of her seemingly new brash personality came into mind and he decided that maybe he needed to get to know Hermione Granger a little more.

Their conversation had been surprisingly entertaining. He had never had a better conversation with her – in fact, he wasn’t sure he had ever had a conversation with her, just the two of them. But then again, why would he? However, it was because of this conversation that he found himself in bed later that night, or morning to be more accurate, more awake than ever. If he had just been able to get a glass of water in peace, he would have been able to walk back upstairs and fall asleep calmly, but instead he had been energized by their conversation, even if she fell asleep near the end of it.

“So, how was everyone’s summer?” Angelina asked casually, breaking the silence, and bringing Fred out of his thoughts.

“Well, I spent the whole time helping my mum around the house and helping my dad in the garden. So, just lovely,” Lee replied sarcastically.

“Speaking of parents, were any of your parents acting odd this summer?” Alicia spoke up.

“Odd how?” George questioned, turning to look at the girl next to him.

“Like they knew something about the school year that we didn’t? My dad just kept saying how much fun I was in for and how he wished he were back at Hogwarts. It was really weird,” Alicia admitted.

Thinking about it, Fred did recall the number of comments made by his father about how they were in for a great year and how he wished he were sixteen again. He and George just assumed it was some kind of mid-life crisis, but now it didn’t seem that way anymore.

“Now that you mention it our dad was doing the same thing. Right Freddie?”

“Yeah, and Charlie kept saying things about how he’d be seeing us sooner than usual.”

“And who can forget the way Percy kept walking around with his nose in the air, talking about how he knew some great big secret that none of us knew,” George said, shaking his head.

“Git,” they remarked together.

“What do you suppose is going on then?” Lee asked, lifting his legs off the windowsill and crossing one ankle over the other in front of him.

“Beats me,” Fred and George answered.

“Well whatever it is, I’m sure we’ll figure it out soon enough—" Angelina concluded, pinching Fred’s side inconspicuously “—I’m going to the loo. Be right back.”

Fred watched as the young witch stood and exited the compartment. He sat there for a while, listening to Lee complain about getting Dumbledore _again_ after opening a chocolate frog, before standing himself.

“Think I’m going to go and try to nick some sweets from the trolley, want anything?” Fred looked to his brother who was leaning against the wall next to the window.

“No, I think you’ll have your hands full,” said George knowingly.

Fred smirked and walked out of the compartment. Turning left, he travelled through the train, peeking into the compartments as he walked past them. Groups of unfamiliar first years filled the spaces—some sitting rod straight in fear and some bouncing in their seats with excitement. Traveling further, he saw a group of Ravenclaws engaged in a heated debate, a few Hufflepuff and Gryffindor girls piled over a copy of Witches Weekly, some Slytherins talking idly, and one or two students frantically working on what appeared to be last minute summer homework. All these students, they had so much time left and here he was, approaching his second to last year. Soon he would have to go into the big, wide world. What he wouldn’t give to go back in time and do it all over again. He wouldn’t change anything, but he definitely would savor the experience. He had wandered into the last carriage of the train when he felt hands grab his arm and pull him into a seemingly empty compartment. Soft, full lips enveloped his as he slid the door shut behind him and locked it with a simple spell. What happened next could only be described as a frantic clash of lips, teeth, and skin.

“Well that was fun,” Fred stated casually some time later as he watched Angelina twist her skirt back in the right direction.

“It was. I’ve missed having you around,” Angelina responded genuinely.

“Oh, I see, you just missed having my body at your beck and call Miss Johnson? Well don’t I feel used,” Fred laughed, causing Angelina to roll her eyes.

“Come on then, we should probably get back before anyone suspects anything.” Angelina crossed her arms and waited for the boy in front of her to stand up.

“I wouldn’t be too worried about that—" Fred informed her as he tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up his trousers “—George already knows and everyone else in our group is too oblivious to put two and two together.”

“It’s cute that you think Alicia doesn’t know every single detail as well.” Angelina patted him on the cheek before grabbing the door handle to the compartment.

Upon returning to the others, no one seemed to care about how long they had been gone, or what they had been up to, just like Fred had known they wouldn’t. The train came to a stop soon thereafter and they were again, back at Hogwarts. Fred gazed up at the large castle through the window of their horseless carriage as it pulled them up towards the main entrance, rocking back and forth over the uneven dirt path. Every window seemed to glow a warm yellow despite the cold, grey storm that brewed in the sky. Fred thanked Merlin that Dumbledore thought of everything when it came to Hogwarts, noticing how the carriages had been equipped with roofs this time to accommodate for the rain that was beginning to fall. He pulled his robes closer to protect himself from the uncommonly chilly night and thought of warm things, like dinner in the Great Hall, the fireplace in the Gryffindor Tower, or even the nice clean sheets of his bed.

With all the grandeur, grey stone, and looming appearance that was Hogwarts, it held a familiar and homey feeling to Fred and George. It was their own personal playground, where they could get into a sizable amount of trouble with close to no repercussions. They knew every hide away, every secret passageway, they even knew where Filch and Mrs. Norris would be at most times. In fact, the moments in which they _did_ get in trouble were due more to pure carelessness than ineptitude. When they finally entered the Great Hall, Fred and George were excitedly planning on setting off a couple of Dungbombs in the Prefect’s bathroom later that night. They sat down at their usual place at the Gryffindor table, Fred beginning to recount the last time they bombed the Prefect’s bathroom to Lee, when George broke their conversation to nudge him in the side and point down the table. Hermione Granger was soaked head to toe.

“You’re looking a bit… _damp_ , Granger,” George said suggestively.

“If you must know, Peeves was throwing water balloons outside the Great Hall when we arrived,” the little witch responded, her nose raised high in the air.

“You hear that Freddie? It was Peeves that got her _soaked_ ,” George stressed the last word, hoping to get a blush out of the little goody-two shoes through sexual innuendo, but she merely kept her gaze and expression neutral.

“Oh, shucks Georgie, for a second I thought we were the only ones to make our little Granger all _wet_ ,” Fred chimed in with his brother and they both snickered. He knew that when it came to the fine art of riling someone up, sexual innuendo was the cheapest way to go. But a part of him longed to push the swotty fourth year as far as he could, to see if there was a threshold to her newly acquired sass. If that meant he had to stoop to cheap tricks, so be it.

He got his answer much sooner than he expected—their laughter cut short when Hermione decided to grace them with her next response, “Please, I _do_ have some self-respect.”

The well-coined response sitting at the tip of Fred’s tongue, fell flat and short the moment his brain processed what Hermione said. He smiled, widely, quirking an eyebrow and nodding once towards his twin and then towards the bushy-haired girl as if to say ‘Touché Granger, Touché’.


	4. I'm Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tournament has been announced! Hermione expresses some conflicted feelings, and Fred and George make a harrowing discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will now be updating this story every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! 
> 
> Please, please, please feel free to leave kudos and comments. I love hearing people's thoughts and opinions on the story! 
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_If I should break_   
_My silent streak_   
_Will knives come out_   
_To cut my cheek?_

* * *

Hermione couldn’t help the swell of pride in her chest at Fred’s acknowledgement of being bested. Truly, it wasn’t a thing to be proud of. There was no joy in winning a game amongst idiots. What was the muggle phrase again? Play stupid games, win stupid prizes? Either way, the last thing she ever expected to fill her with smug glee was Frederick Weasley’s approval. No. She shook her head. It wasn’t his approval that made her feel this way. It was the glorious relief of getting the prat to shut up once again, that’s what it was. But if that were true, then why was her mind drifting back to last night’s conversation and the gentle banter the two shared? She felt it then too. The glowing sense of satisfaction that he not only approved of her mental prowess when it came to the art of repartee, but that he also found amusement in it.

Unable to ponder on the thought for long, she turned her attention to Dumbledore as he announced for the year’s sorting to begin. Hermione watched as the group of frightened first years filed into the Great Hall; their eyes wide with wonder. She remembered her first moment seeing the magnificence of Hogwarts. No amount of reading had prepared her for all that the school had to offer. The sorting went by quickly, Hermione clapping and cheering politely when one of the new students joined their table. Some students, especially the Gryffindor students, got quite into the sorting, seeing it as some competition. Hermione was all for house pride, but she really didn’t see it necessary to boo when a child was placed in Slytherin or laugh when placed in Hufflepuff. Glaring over at Ron, Harry, and the Weasley twins, Hermione wished they would conduct themselves with a bit more civility. Honestly, the school could do with more house unity in her opinion. Still, they acquired quite a fair number of new Gryffindors, including the Collin Creevey’s little brother who was already gawking at Harry like he was some kind of god.

Hermione snorted. She imagined they wouldn’t feel that way if they ever had to help him with his Astronomy homework.

Once the sorting ceremony was over, Dumbledore stood up again, his midnight blue robes sparkling with silver stars. Hermione always secretly wondered where he got his robes. They were the most ornate and intricate pieces she’d ever observed in the wizarding world. Surely, they didn’t sell them anywhere in Diagon Alley. At least, she never saw anything quite like them in Madame Malkin’s shop. Perhaps Twilfitt and Tatting’s. She watched as their headmaster adjusted his half-moon spectacles and cleared his throat.

“Good evening and welcome back to another fantastic year at Hogwarts. I would like to begin with a few announcements. First, as many of you know, the forest on the grounds is strictly prohibited to all students. Second, the wizarding village of Hogsmeade is also off limits to students below their third year or for those without permi—” Dumbledore was cut off by a loud crack of thunder and the groan of the large Great Hall doors opening. All heads turned towards the entrance, confused by the sudden interruption. What they found was a short and stalky man standing haggardly as the heavy wooden door closed behind him. A sense of unease washed across Hermione as she watched him enter the hall slowly. His long, patched robes hung heavy on him, dripping water onto the floor as he limped towards the head table. He leaned heavily on a thick, wooden staff and grunted with every step. Wet, tangled grey hair hung in his face – a face marred with thick and grotesque scars. But it wasn’t the grueling number of scars that unsettled her. It was his eyes. One eye was small, dark, and beady, while the other was a striking blue that never seemed to stop moving. It swiveled around in all directions, never focusing on one spot for long as he kept his pace towards the headmaster. As he approached, Dumbledore smiled unfazed. They shook hands briefly across the table in a familiar manner before the mysterious wizard limped to take a seat at the spot usually reserved for the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

“What good timing my old friend, I was just about to introduce you!” Dumbledore exclaimed delightfully. “This year, the Defense Against the Dark Arts position will be filled by a very dear friend of mine, Alastor Moody. Alastor?” Dumbledore motioned to the scraggly man. Moody stood and gave a curt nod to the mass of students. A spatter of confused, yet polite applause greeted him. Hermione stared at the man speculatively. She had read about Alastor Moody. Some called him Mad-Eye Moody, which observing him now, she could see why the nickname was appointed. A famous auror and dark wizard catcher, he was renowned for his part in catching most of the known Death Eaters currently in Azkaban. However, over the past few years he had become known for his increasing paranoia. If the rumors were true, Hermione wondered if he was truly qualified to be teaching young children.

“Right! Lastly, I have the unfortunate duty of informing you that our annual Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not be taking place this year,” announced Dumbledore. His announcement was met with numerous cries of outrage from the tables of students. Some of which were most loudly emanating from the Weasley twins down the table. Hermione frowned sadly in his direction before looking to Harry and Ron who seemed equally as devastated but more entirely confused. While Hermione was disappointed for them, she couldn’t help but feel a small jolt of glee. At least she wouldn’t have to spend hours in the cold watching Harry try to kill himself on a broom.

“This is due to a very special opportunity—” Dumbledore went on “—Over the coming months, our school has the honor hosting an event that hasn’t taken place in over a century. It is my pleasure to announce that Hogwarts will be home to the Triwizard Tournament!”

“You’re joking!” Fred Weasley exclaimed, his voice ringing loud through the hall. Hermione turned to glare at him for his incredibly rude outburst, but ultimately rolled her eyes when the entirety of the hall began to laugh, including Dumbledore himself.

“No, Mr. Weasley, I am _not_ joking,” the headmaster stated before continuing to inform them all on the history of the Triwizard Tournament. Hermione of course, knew all about the tournament. There was a whole section in **Hogwarts, a History** dedicated to the event. While the competition was a great opportunity for selected students to show off their magical abilities, it was also quite dangerous. In fact, the whole reason the tournament hadn’t taken place in centuries was because of the overt amount of deaths it resulted in. She warried a glance at Harry across the table. This was exactly the kind of thing _he_ would find himself mixed up in.

“I’m going for it!” she heard Fred whisper down the table. Rolling her eyes, she doubted he had half the knowledge and strength it took to win something as monumental as the Triwizard Tournament. As Dumbledore went on, the hall became restless. Student voices, excitedly discussing the tournament and all it had to offer, soon rose in volume that Hermione deemed quite inappropriate.

“Now, now, I know all of you are understandably eager to participate and win the Triwizard Cup for Hogwarts—” lamented Dumbledore “—however, as one of the compromises made in order to bring the tournament back, myself, the heads of the participating schools, and the Ministry of Magic have all agreed to place an age restriction on this year’s event. Only students seventeen and older will be allowed to enter their names for the Triwizard Tournament. This, is something that we feel is necessary as the tasks will be incredibly difficult and will require the education and experience of older witches and wizards, to complete.”

Hermione gave a great sigh of relief at this revelation. Thank Merlin. That fact alone meant everyone she knew at Hogwarts personally was safe. Even Fred and George weren’t seventeen yet. However, looking around at the disappointed and even angry faces at her table, showed that only she was happy about the rule change. She didn’t let their disappointment ruin her mood though. Instead she listened contentedly, until next thing she knew, her was done and dinner was served.

Dinner went by uneventfully, conversation filled laments of summer trips, general gossip, and theorizing about the upcoming tournament. Hermione was thoroughly stuffed by the time the tables were magically cleared and their group departed back to Gryffindor Common room. Hermione trailed behind Harry and Ron as they walked with the twins through the halls, thinking about her classes the next day when George’s voice broke her concentration.

“You know, Freddie, I reckon we could find a way to get past whatever Dumbledore will use to enforce the age restriction,” George said enthusiastically.

“How do you suppose they’ll pick to decide who gets in or not?” Harry asked. Hermione thought that was quite a good question. In her reading, it was never explicitly stated _how_ the competitors were chosen. It simply stated that they were.

“No idea, but it’ll be them that we have to fool—” stated Fred, his chest puffing in confidence “—I think a few drops of aging potion should do the trick.”

“But Dumbledore knows you aren’t old enough,” Ron piped up as they made their way back to the Gryffindor common room.

“Yes, but whoever is deciding doesn’t. It seems to me that they’ll just choose whoever is best from each school. Dumbledore is just trying to stop us from getting our names in is all,” George replied to his younger brother.

“And you two aren’t the least bit concerned that people have _died_ in this competition before?” Hermione inquired, feeling irritation bubbling up below her calm façade.

“Not a bit,” the pair responded with cheeky grins.

Fred and George’s response irked Hermione quite terribly. Were they really that immune to the idea of potential imminent death? Fred definitely wasn’t – no matter what he said. She knew that for certain just from her memories of the Quidditch World Cup. He had been just as afraid as her, she saw it on his face. That fact alone gave her comfort when she continued to endure the agonizing nightmares revolving around that night. Rubbing at her eyes, she cursed at just how bloody tired she was. When she nodded off in the Weasley kitchen that night sitting across from Fred, it had been the first peaceful sleep she’d had in weeks. Unfortunately, the peace did not last long, for as soon as her head hit the pillow in Ginny’s room the nightmares were back again. However, the comforting thought that she had not been the only person scared and panicked that night reassured her that she was not overreacting. Even though everyone had all but forgotten the events of the Quidditch World Cup. Hermione wanted to forget as well.

“Well if Fred and George figure out a way to enter their names, I want in,” said Ron as they sat in the common room. Upon entering the tower, Fred and George made swift exits to their room, most likely to start on their idiotic aging potion idea. It wasn’t going to work, Hermione knew that, but she doubted anything she said to them would get through their thick skulls.

“You most definitely will not Ronald Weasley!” Hermione scolded the freckle-faced boy sitting across from her in front of the fire. He rolled his eyes at her, ignoring her objection.

“Oh, come on Hermione. Everyone knows the age limit is insulting. Us three have faced loads of dark magic already. Especially Harry! You don’t think he’s capable of winning a silly little competition? Tell her Harry!” Ron looked over at Harry for support, but all the bespectacled boy could manage was a conflicted expression before Hermione responded.

“I think Harry has faced enough life-threatening situations for a lifetime, thank you very much. I’d rather you two lose the opportunity of fame and fortune, than risk your necks again. To do so would just be stupid. No one can evade death forever!” Hermione rose from her seat and stormed out, leaving the two boys to gawk at her retreating form.

Hermione huffed and puffed about her room, slamming books down and pulling on her sleep clothes more aggressively than usual. The other girls in the room continued their babble, paying her no mind as they were too engulfed in whatever the latest gossip was to care about her bad mood. She crawled into bed and drew the curtains closed, blocking out all the light from her roommates Pavarti, Lavender, and Fey. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to sleep – to block out all the frustrations of the day and to most importantly _not_ have nightmares. Truth be told, she shouldn’t be so upset at Ron. It was all trivial. In the end, the twins would never figure out how to enter their names into the tournament and thus neither would Ron nor Harry. This might end up being a perfectly normal year after all. There was no magical item with the ability to keep one alive forever taking up residence in the castle; there couldn’t possibly be a _second_ mysterious chamber hidden under the school housing a deadly snake; and there wasn’t an escaped Azkaban prisoner seemingly attempting to murder her best friend – that she knew of. No, this year _they_ would be the spectators. They would watch as three experienced and skilled students, they were not close to, risk their lives in the tournament. Maybe a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin would compete for Hogwarts. Whoever it was, it wouldn’t be them and they would watch from the stands, getting a thrill from the entertainment. Then they would return to the common room, talking about who they thought would win. They would study hard and pass their classes. They would end the year happy and safe, and looking forward to the next year.

Everyone would be safe, happy, and together.

* * *

No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be there. It had to! Fred tore through his trunk again, this time physically removing the items one by one and throwing them onto the dormitory floor around him. However, much to his dismay, he reached the bottom empty handed. Standing abruptly, he rushed over to George’s trunk and began to do the same. He was halfway through its contents when his brother came in, followed closely by Lee Jordan and Kenneth Towler.

“Oi, Freddie, mind telling me why you’re scrounging through my personal things?” George asked, staring down at his brother with a curious gaze.

“It’s gone,” Fred answered gravely, continuing to tear through George’s trunk.

“What’s gone?” asked Lee, hopping over the growing pile of things on the floor and landing clumsily on his bed.

“I swear I just saw it the other day and now it’s gone Georgie!” exclaimed Fred in a panic, sitting back on his heels when he, once again, reached the baren bottom of the trunk.

Towler sighed, walking through the mess, and placing his school bag down next to his neatly made bed. Airily he pulled out a few textbooks and laid down before remarking, “I always knew one of you would lose it. Personally, I always thought it would be George.”

George cast an unamused expression in Towler’s direction before crouching down next to his obviously distressed twin. “Get ahold of yourself mate—” George shook him roughly “—just tell me what’s going on.”

“The money!” yelled Fred, breaking away from George’s hold and moving to his wardrobe. “It’s gone! I’ve looked everywhere for it and it’s gone. Last I checked it was in our money pouch and now it’s not there.”

“Wait. You don’t mean the money we won, do you?” George asked, rushing to Fred’s side, and grabbing him by the arm. He pulled him roughly, forcing Fred to cease his search and face his twin. Fred swelled with irritation. He didn’t have time for this. He _needed_ to find the missing galleons. Fred didn’t need to respond for George to know that it was, in fact, the money they won from their bet at the world cup. George’s eyes widened in disbelief and then, he too began to tare wildly through his wardrobe, all the while chanting a desperate mumble of “No, it’s impossible.”

“Two hundred galleons do not just up and walk away Freddie!” cried George, abandoning his wrecked wardrobe, and lying flat on his belly to look under their beds.

“Where on earth did you two get two hundred galleons?!” asked Lee incredulously. He sat up in his bed, showing a larger interest at the mention of money the two had seemed to misplace.

Fred sighed, sinking to the floor, and leaning against the open door of his wardrobe. Closing his eyes tightly, he banged the back of his head against the wood as he tried to think.

“We won it,” answered George, now pulling back the covers on his bed.

Fred smirked sadistically, knowing it was a lost cause. He already checked there.

“Won it?” asked Lee again, clearly both confused and impressed.

“Yeah, we bet our dads friend all our money and a bloody fake wand that Krum would catch the snitch, but Ireland would win—” Fred rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms in frustration “—he was pretty surprised when we were right, but he paid us. We’ve had the money locked up in my trunk ever since. We were going to use it to upstart our business.”

 _‘_ Were’, was the important part of that sentence, thought Fred. Now without the money, he had no clue how they would fund their business after school. They could get jobs he supposed. He and George could work in a shop and save up until they had enough. It wasn’t the worst scenario, but merlin, it wasn’t what they imagined.

“Well I didn’t touch it,” said Lee, holing his hands up to signify his innocence.

“You couldn’t have taken it even if you wanted to,” said Fred. “I put so many wards on my trunk, you’d think I was trying to keep Dumbledore himself out.”

“It has to be here somewhere Freddie. Are you sure you didn’t take the money pouch out for something and then, I don’t know, leave it somewhere?”

Fred looked at his brother in irritation before snapping, “Actually now that you mention it, just the other day I was sitting on my bed and I thought ‘Gee, you know what would be an excellent idea? Taking two hundred galleons for a bloody _walk_.’ Of course, I didn’t take it out for anything! What do you take me for, Georgie?”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. That was a stupid question. I just don’t understand what could have happened to it.”

“This friend of your dads, he wouldn’t happen to be Ludo Bagman, would he?” asked Towler from his bed, nose currently buried in his transfiguration textbook.

Fred and George froze, so still they could have easily been mistaken for victims of a well-placed body bind curse. They looked at their second roommate with suspicion.

“Why?” the two questioned in unison, staring hard at the sandy-haired boy.

“My dad says he’s a real bilker. He’s always making bets and never paying up – still owes my dad two galleons and seven sickles from a game of cards almost a year ago,” said Towler, looking back at his book with a bored expression.

Fred took a moment to process his words. Kenneth Towler was many things: swotty, boring, killjoy to name a few, but he wasn’t a liar. So that meant if he said Ludo Bagman was a renowned cheat, then it was probably true. Still though, he _had_ paid them the money. Almost immediately even. If he was constantly broke, then where did he come up with the galleons to pay them off? Unless…

George seemed to have the same thought he did because it was his turn to sink to the floor in abject horror.

“Leprechaun gold,” they said in distraught realization.

It was the only possible explanation, thought Fred. While possessing the exact same features as a wizarding galleon, leprechaun gold had one little thing about it that made it unique – it vanished after twenty-four hours. Fred cursed under his breath, standing, and beginning to place his things back into his trunk.

“Of course that slimy git would try to con us out of our well-deserved money. We should have known!” exclaimed George, throwing his hands in the air.

“Maybe it was a mistake,” Lee offered kindly.

Fred and George snorted, “That’s likely.”

“Well it never hurts to make sure,” said Lee, taking off his shoes and kicking their things out of the way as he shuffled to his wardrobe to pull out his sleep clothes.

  
“He’s got a point Georgie,” said Fred, pausing his cleaning to grab parchment, a quill, and his ink bottle from the ground.

**_Dear Mr. Bagman,_ **

**_Fred and George Weasley here! We’re sure you remember us from the world cup. We were the two incredibly dashing twins that won all that money off you._ **

**_Speaking of the money, it seems there was a slight mistake and you paid us in leprechaun money instead of real money. _ **

**_We’re sure it was just an innocent error on your part and therefore would hold no ill-will against you as long as you respond to this letter with the amount in full._ **

**_Sincerely,_ **

**_Fred and George Weasley_ **

**_Founders of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes_ **

Fred penned the letter as George stood over his shoulder reading aloud and making suggestions. When they were satisfied with the tone and contents of their letter, Fred folded it neatly and placed it inside an envelope, addressing it to Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry of Magic.

“Do you suppose we have enough time to make it to the owlery before curfew?” Fred asked, kicking the rest of his things out of the way, and pulling on his shoes.

Kenneth Towler snorted rudely from his bed, “When have you two ever cared about curfew?”

“He makes a fair point Freddie. Come on, let’s go then.”

“Oi! Aren’t you two going to clean up your mess?” Lee shouted at them as they made their way to the door.

The twins yelled a shifty “Maybe” over their shoulders as they exited the dormitory and made their way down the stairs to the common room.

Fred held tightly to the letter, hoping against all hope that it was all just a big misunderstanding. Perhaps Ludo had been a bilker in the past, but recently changed his ways. Perhaps he had every intention of paying them in full. Perhaps he’d be embarrassed upon opening the letter and realizing his mistake. Perhaps George would sprout a tail overnight and he would shit out a pig.

Still, it was worth a try. Not only were they short the two hundred galleons Ludo owed them, but they were also down the 37 galleons, 15 sickles, and three knuts they originally gave him _for_ the bet. It was all the money they had to their name. They _needed_ that money. Fred rubbed a hand through his hair and gripped it tightly at the roots behind his left ear. He honestly didn’t know how it would all turn out, but one thing became apparently clear as they reached the owlery.

If Ludo Bagman didn’t give them the money he owed them, then it was more important than ever that they get their names into the Goblet of Fire and have their chance at the prize money.


	5. It Was You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when Hermione thought nothing worse could plague her than her constant nightmare, she has a very different kind of dream. How is she ever going to look Ronald in the face again? All she wanted was to do well in her classes, get S.P.E.W. off the ground, and finally get a good nights sleep. 
> 
> Fred continues to find himself more than amazed at the infinite facets of Hermione Granger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second chapter this week? Why not! You guys deserve it, and hopefully like it...
> 
> I will now be updating this story every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)!
> 
> Please, please, please feel free to leave kudos and comments. I love hearing people's thoughts and opinions on the story!
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_Moments fall like crimson nights_  
_Some stick to my skin tonight_  
_Take a breath and shake them off_  
_Eyes ahead, don't you wait too long_

* * *

“If I have to write one more word about the goblin rebellions, I think I might off myself.” Ron threw down his quill, ink splotching across this parchment, and let his head fall into his hands.

“Be careful. If you do, I guarantee Professor Trelawney will say she predicted it all along because Venus was in retrograde and you’re a Pisces,” Harry responded flatly, resulting in a smile from Ron.

Hermione would never admit it, but she secretly agreed with Ron. While not quite as distressed as her ginger friend, she did find the weekly essays assigned by Professor Binns tedious and incredibly lacking in challenge. Perhaps she found the whole thing tiresome because she already knew everything there was to know about the goblin rebellions, but it also didn’t help that the ghostly professor was about as exciting as an old shoe.

“Hermione…” Ron drew out her name like he had just come to an idea. Hermione, very familiar with this tone, knew exactly what his idea was.

“No,” she responded sternly, scribbling away at her own parchment about the various defense tactics utilized by the goblins.

“Pleeeaaase?”

“No.”

“Pleeeeeeaaaaaaase?”

She sighed. “I will edit and revise Ronald Weasley, and nothing more.”

“You’re the best, honestly.” Ron grinned and picked up his quill again, dipping it in his ink and scribbling away with renewed energy. His stupid grin made Hermione smile and roll her eyes before returning to her own essay. While she wished that Ron and Harry could just do their own work themselves, she did realize that not everyone had the discipline that she had. However, that didn’t mean she had to stop trying to get them to work harder. She knew for a fact that their potential far exceeded their marks.

They worked in silence for a while, the scratching of quill on parchment and shuffle of students walking past filling Hermione’s ears as her brain turned over, pulling out fact after fact.

In a blazing sense of pride, she finished her last sentence, tying her conclusion together perfectly, and placed her quill down on the table. At the click, both Ron and Harry looked over to her with wide eyes of disbelief.

“You’re finished already?” gaped Harry.

“I’ve barely gotten three paragraphs written. How can you possibly be finished already?!” exclaimed Ron. Hermione shushed him, glancing over at Madame Pince’s disapproving glare.

“Some of us, Ronald, utilize our time efficiently,” Hermione responded coolly as she placed her things back into her bag. She didn’t bother mentioning that she spent her last three hours in the library as opposed to their meager thirty minutes, or that she took her break after morning Transfiguration to study as well. Her eyes itched from staring at off-white pages and black script and for once she finished all her work _and_ read ahead in all her classes. It probably had something to do with the fact that she was attending five less classes than the previous year.

There was also the small fact that she no longer slept. Nearly a month into school and she still barely slept four hours a night. When panic inducing nightmares weren’t causing her to toss and turn, she was studying. And when she wasn’t studying, she was working on her new endeavor – the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, otherwise known as S.P.E.W. Ever since the Quidditch World Cup and the horrid treatment of Winky, the house elf, she knew she had to do something. This became even more clear when she found out Hogwarts was run almost entirely on house elf labor. In all her years never did she imagine that her beloved school used essentially slavery to cook and clean. It was wrong. It was barbaric. One would assume that in a world filled with magic, where one was only limited to the bounds of one’s imagination, they would be a bit more progressive. Unfortunately, though, it seemed to be the opposite. In fact, Hermione had never met a group of people so routed in their ways as the wizarding world. Of course, it would be foolish to assume that an entire world would be impermeable to prejudices when the muggle world was not.

Therefore, where all of her time was normally spent in the Gryffindor common room with Harry and Ron or watching the Gryffindor quidditch team practice on the pitch, she now spent it nose deep in a book or attempting to recruit new S.P.E.W. members. Her absence had not gone unnoticed – in fact, it became so blatantly clear that Harry confronted her outright between Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. 

_“I don’t understand Hermione, is it something I’ve done?” Harry ran a hand through his unruly locks, distress obvious on his face._

_“No, it’s nothing you’ve done Harry,” Hermione picked at her nails, feeling uncomfortable._

_“Was it, Ron? I’m sure whatever he said, he didn’t mean it.” Hermione ignored the grating irritation at Harry’s blind defense of Ronald._

_“No, it’s not Ron.”_

_“Then what? Come on Hermione, you know you can tell me anything.”_

_Hermione looked at her best friend and sighed. His kind eyes shone from behind his round spectacles with sincerity and concern._

_“I’m not avoiding you or Ron. I’m just stressed about our O.W.L.s next year—" she paused “—You can never be too prepared, and I need to do well on them.”_

_Harry looked at her with a confused expression, “Hermione, they’re not for another year! Are you seriously stressing over something so far away?”_

_“Yes? No? I guess…I guess I’m just used to studying all the time. You know, what with the time-turner last year and all. And then of course there’s S.P.E.W. No one seems to care at all that these poor elves are being worked day and night without any pay. I mean, it’s horrendous!” Hermione half-lied, feeling stupid as the words left her mouth. She wanted to be honest with Harry, but she didn’t know how. The real reason felt stupid. What was she to say? Sorry I’ve thrust myself into my work more than ever Harry; I just can’t stop having nightmares about something that happened nearly two months ago and I’m trying to distract myself._

_She felt a hand on her shoulder, “I get it.”_

_“You do?” His remark caught her off guard as she wasn’t even sure if she understood it._

_“You’re an absolute swot. Don’t get me wrong, we all love that about you, but you need to learn when to relax and have some fun,” Harry finished with a grin._

_“You prat—” Hermione hit his arm with the back of her book “—Don’t call me a swot. But you’re right. I need balance.”_

_“And I guess as appointed Secretary of S.P.E.W., I could do a bit more for the cause.”_

_Hermione lit up at the words. “Really? Oh Harry, thank you so much! I’m making more buttons tonight, maybe you could help me? Then tomorrow we can try and canvas some of the other houses for new members!”_

“Well, if you’re so efficient, you should be able to help me finish mine!” argued Ron desperately, bringing Hermione back to the present.

“Ronald, I told you before. I’m not doing your assignment for you. You have to learn it on your own,” she whispered.

“When am I ever going to need to know about all the goblin leaders? Besides, you like doing this sort of stuff.”

“Ronald, I said n—”

“Lovers’ quarrel?”

Merlin, Hermione thought at the sound of unified voices. Rolling her eyes, she turned to see Fred and George standing behind her.

“Hey Fred, hey George,” Harry greeted them cheerfully, placing his quill down – happy for an excuse to stop working.

“Hullo Harry,” they responded in unison.

“Any progress on entering our names for the tournament?” Ron asked expectantly. Much to Hermione’s disproval, Fred and George promised him a try at whatever they whipped up as soon as they knew it was successful, and Ron had not stopped talking about it.

“We’re nearly there,” George grinned.

“So, we’ll know in about two days whether it works or not,” said Fred, leaning against a bookshelf casually. Two days? Hermione thought with alarm. Was it really the 29th of October already? That meant the students from Beauxbaton and Durmstrang, the other competing schools, were to arrive tomorrow evening! She needed to go back to her dormitory and rework her schedule. She had no room to pencil in excitement and new student arrival that week. She opened her planner to begin revising.

“How confident are you that it’ll work?” asked Ron, leaning forward in excitement.

“Extremely,” the twins answered.

Hermione let out an indecent snort and rolled her eyes again. Fools.

“Something you’d like to add Granger?” asked George, looking over at her.

“Yes, hullo to you also. So nice of you to acknowledge us in a friendly manner,” accused Fred sarcastically.

“I think some lessons are best learned through experience, rather than lecture,” said Hermione, carefully picking her words before tucking her planner into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

“But you love to lecture us, are you sure you aren’t raring to tell us how wrong we are?” asked Fred, fluttering his eyelashes sweetly.

Hermione gave a short laugh, “Please. I know a lost cause when I see one.”

“A lost cause? You hear that Georgie? We’re a lost cause.”

“I don’t know…sounds to me like she’s just afraid of a challenge Freddie.”

“It’s not a challenge if all I’m doing is slowly melting my brain trying to reason with the pair of you,” scoffed Hermione.

“Oh, I can melt your brain just fine, if that’s what you’d like,” stated Fred, stepping forward cockily.

“Is your wit really so primitive that you have to resort to sexual innuendo _all_ the time?” Hermione asked, her heart rate picking up in her chest as their conversation turned more heated.

“Sexual innuendo? I have no idea what you’re referring to Granger. I was merely saying I might be smarter than you think. Are you sure you aren’t projecting a bit there?”

“You’re a child,” Hermione bit back, feathers ruffled that Fred seemed to be over his initial shock response to her comebacks and instead was meeting her beat for beat. His eyes held a shine to them as he smiled down at her in excitement.

“Resorting to name-calling now? I thought higher of you,” sighed Fred, tapping the end of her nose condescendingly. Hermione batted his hand away, feeling her hair begin to crackle. She was getting too upset. She needed to calm down and show him that she was better than him.

Taking a small, calming breath, she straightened her posture before replying, “That doesn’t surprise me Frederick. I’m sure it’s easy to think highly of me when your potential is so low.”

Hermione took that moment to make her exit. Turning on her heel, she walked out of the library, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone. A warm flush covered her face and bled down her neck as she scurried through the halls. Adrenaline pumped through her system. Despite his ample fight, she felt quite confident that she won the battle. His lack of biting response as she left, supported as much. Departing before he could speak might have been a cheap way to go about it, but she reasoned there was no clean way to fight when it came to the Weasley twins. A small giggle bubbled up in her chest as she replayed the conversation in her head. Invigorated by the whole event, she ran the rest of the way to the Gryffindor tower. Rounding corners and sprinting up staircases, exhaustion filled her small frame by the time she came upon the portrait of the Fat Lady. Her lungs ached from the exercise and her shoulder and back ached from the heavy books weighing her bag down. She gasped the password through pants and entered as she tried to catch her breath. Fellow Gryffindors cast odd looks in her direction as she scurried up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories, but she didn’t care. Her room was empty and for that she was grateful. The last thing she wanted was a forced conversation with Lavender or Pavarti. Perhaps the physical exertion would act as a sleeping agent and she would finally fall into a deep and peaceful sleep. Best to ride the wave and go to bed while I’m still tired _¸_ she thought. Sluggishly, she changed out of her uniform and crawled into bed. Nagging thoughts tugged at the back of her mind, telling her to brush her teeth, but the exhaustion in her body told her to sleep. Ultimately her body won, and sleep took over.

Hermione’s mind swam the next day as she sat in double potions with the Slytherins. It was nearing the end of class and Professor Snape was taking the time to explain to them why their potions had been improperly brewed in one way or another. Hermione’s hadn’t of course, but that didn’t stop him from berating her for being an ‘insufferable little know-it-all’, and then accusing her of helping any student that didn’t manage to burn a hole in their cauldrons. She diligently took notes as Snape droned on and on, but her mind failed to connect to the words she was writing down on the parchment. All thoughts and worries were currently focused on an embarrassing personal crisis. The dream.

While Hermione thought nightmares were the worst thing, she could possibly endure in her sleeping state, she had to admit she had been wrong. No, apparently there was something much, much worse stewing in her brain waiting for vulnerable unconsciousness to leap out and take form.

She had been in the library, wandering through the sections of towering shelves when she appeared in a section, she was unfamiliar with. Turning a corner her eyes grew wide at the sight of two older students locked in an intimate embrace. Her heart started to race, and her breathing began to pick up as she felt a tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach. She tried to leave but found herself unable to move – her feet glued to the floor. That’s when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist and a pair of lips kissing up her neck. Her hands went up, one grabbing at the fingers that dug roughly into her flesh and the other threading itself through long thick hair. She turned her head only to see that the hair between her fingers was a brilliant shade of ginger. The realization was so shocking to her that she awoke from her dream, sitting ramrod straight – heart pounding, sweat-slicked, and breathing heavily.

Her face blushed just thinking about it. Turning her head casually to the right, she spied one of her best friends. Ronald Weasley sat next to Harry, slumped forward in his seat, head resting in his hand. His long hair hung way past his eyes, concealing them completely. Hermione, knowing Ron, would bet on her life that they were closed, and he was verging on sleep. She knew he wasn’t fully asleep though, because if he were there would be loud snores coming from his direction. Him. _He_ was the one her mind decided to fantasize about. Why? She studied him, her eyes tracing the freckles on the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t bad looking; she always quite liked his hair and pale complexion. He had a kind heart and could be quite charming when he wanted to be, the problem was that rarely did he want to be. He could be quite cruel and insensitive without knowing it, and he didn’t care for much other than Quidditch. Is that really what she wanted in a partner? Hermione scoffed at her mental ramblings. Here she was, wondering if Ronald Weasley were her potential first love without considering that _he_ would probably never be interested in _her._ After all, her hair was a bushy, frizzy mess, her teeth were far too big for her mouth, and her otherwise plain features left much to be desired. Not to mention her overall swotty personality. Still, hadn’t he told her that she was ‘the best’? And he certainly didn’t mind being her friend. What if he did like her?

“Miss Granger, is there something on Mr. Weasley’s face that’s so interesting that you cannot be bothered to pay attention?” The sound of Professor Snape’s voice brought Hermione out of her thoughts, and she looked up to find all eyes on her. The Slytherins snickered around her, and Ron and Harry looked at her in surprise. Hermione felt her face flush with embarrassment.

“No Professor, my apologies,” she mumbled, looking down at her notes.

“Five points from Gryffindor for Miss Granger’s lack of interest. Class dismissed,” snipped Professor Snape as he turned towards his office. Hermione packed her bag and exited the classroom as quickly as possible.

“What was that all about?” Harry asked, him and Ron catching up to her with ease.

“Sorry guys, I got lost in thought and didn’t realize where I was looking. I guess I should have been paying attention,” Hermione stammered, readjusting her bag on her shoulder.

“No problem Hermione. Snape’s a git and no one blames you. I was almost asleep near the end there too,” Ron piped in with a friendly smile. Hermione felt her stomach flip.

“Thanks Ronald.” She smiled back.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a couple of love birds, boys,” Draco Malfoy sneered as he came up beside them. “When’s the wedding? I’m sure it’ll be just lovely, or at least as lovely as five knuts’ll get you.”

Hermione scowled at the silver-hair bully, with all his sharp pointed features and disgustingly greasy demeanor, as he laughed along with his goons. She rolled her eyes and grabbed both Harry and Ron by the arm, leading them on towards the front of the castle. Ridiculous. That’s what she was being. It was ridiculous to waste her time worrying about some absurd dream when that’s all it was – a dream. Besides, she didn’t know for certain it was Ron who she dreamed about. There were plenty of red heads in the world.

Outside the main entrance they found Ginny next to Neville in a crowd of students.

“Did we miss anything?” asked Ron, looking excitedly about.

“Nothing yet, you’ve made it just in time I think!” Ginny exclaimed in glee. The castle was in a fit of excitement. Even the Slytherins, who didn’t find much joy in anything school related, seemed to be chomping at the bit for their guests to arrive and the Triwizard Tournament to finally take off. Hermione, too, was excited but more at the thought of getting to meet students from other magical schools. She had taken the liberty of reading as much as she could on the histories of both Durmstrang and Beauxbaton and was informing Ginny on their key similarities and differences when several gasps and shouts erupted around them.

“Look!” Ginny yelled, pointing up at the sky above them. Hermione followed her finger upwards to see a large horse-drawn carriage flying through the clouds, pulled by a dozen flying horses the size of elephants. She watched as they soared through the air, their wings pumping up and down in synchronization. The size of the horses was comparable to what they were pulling, for as it got closer, Hermione estimated the carriage to be at least twice the size of her home back in Hampstead. The carriage floated prettily, a pale cream embellished with pastel blue designs and gold trim. Obviously of French provincial style, she concluded that this was clearly the Beauxbaton students. So enthralled by the ornate and bordering ostentatious carriage and the horses pulling it, Hermione failed to notice heads turning and mouths gaping at the Black Lake. In fact, her gaze only broke away from the magnificent beasts when Ron elbowed her from behind. She turned to scold him, but caught her tongue when she noticed a daunting, black ship floating on the lake. It rocked back and forth, sending large waves crashing away from it on the usually glass-smooth surface. Hermione thought it very much resembled what happened when you dropped a large rock into a pond and wondered how it got there. Someone was sure to tell her later – there were plenty of witnesses.

“Way to make an entrance!” exclaimed Ron, followed by loud whoops and cheers as he clapped.

“A bit flashy, if you ask me,” Pansy Parkinson sniffed from a nearby group of Slytherins.

“She’s one to talk,” Hermione mumbled under her breath.

“Hah!” a boisterous laugh sounded behind her. Hermione swiveled and caught a pair of hazel eyes looking at her.

Fred leaned towards her. “Nice one Granger,” he complimented over the babble of conversation around them. His warm breath fell on her neck, all too reminiscent of her dream. Her body jerked to attention, heat creeping up her face before she smiled politely and turned away from the older boy.

“They’re coming up to the entrance!” Seamus Finnigan announced. Hermione thanked Merlin for the distraction and looked down the path leading to the front of the castle. Sure enough, there was a large group of individuals walking towards them. As they neared, the Hogwarts students cheered and applauded them, trying to welcome the foreign students like Professor Dumbledore advised. Hermione clapped softly as the first students approached. A tall and unsettling man led the group. His dark hair, speckled with bits of silver, sat heavy on his head, slicked back from his angular face. The sharp features and the long, grey goatee gave him an ominous appearance fueled even further by the deep scowl set into his mouth and piercing black eyes. He wore midnight black robes paired with a brilliantly white fur pelt over his shoulders. Igor Karkaroff. Headmaster of Durmstrang. The students behind him wore robes of deep crimson, the color sharing an eerie resemblance to the color of blood. Like their headmaster, they too donned thick furs to fight the crisp cold, only theirs held a rich color of brown. They looked incredibly warm. Subconsciously, Hermione pulled her wool robes closer around her as a strong breeze blew around them.

“Bloody hell! It’s him!” Ron shouted, his voice taking on a hysterical tone.

“Who?” asked Harry.

“Victor Krum! It’s Victor Krum! Right there in the front!” Ron pushed himself forward and past Hermione to get a better look at the famous Quidditch player coming towards them. With Ron’s tall figure in front of her, she failed to confirm whether the Bulgarian seeker truly lead the group of Durmstrang students. Ron’s excitement only increased as the visiting students got closer and then passed them into the castle.

“Ronald! I can’t see!” Hermione pounded lightly on Ron’s back with her fists until he snapped out of his star struck trance. The ginger boy turned around, a sheepish grin across his face.

“Sorry about that Hermione. Here.” Awkwardly, Ron shifted over and led Hermione to the front by her waist. For the second time that afternoon a Weasley boy reminded her of her dream, Ron’s touch all too like the arms that held her sensually the night before. She took a small step forward, putting distance between herself and Ron’s grasp. The students from Beauxbaton were the next to make their way down the path. The crowd gawked at the elegant French students as they walked poised and beautiful down the cobblestone in their blue silk uniforms. Hermione, on the other hand couldn’t help but find them annoying. They shivered and chattered their teeth in such an exaggerated manner and looked up at the castle with such disgust and judgement that she immediately took a disliking to them.

“For Merlin’s sake! It’s not that cold,” Hermione groaned as the boys and girls huddled together for warmth. Hermione thought them incredibly rude and found it idiotic that they did not think to wear warmer robes. However, someone in their party evidently had sense, as their headmistress sauntered up the path in a heavy shawl, completely unbothered by the cold. Although, Hermione wasn’t sure anything could bother the woman as she stood twelve feet tall and sturdy. A neutral expression, bored some might even call it, covered her face and despite her size, she too glided gracefully across the ground. As they walked past, Hermione could hear little bits and pieces of snide remarks from the Beauxbaton students. Apparently, they thought Hogwarts would be much nicer than it was. Hermione couldn’t believe her ears. She assumed that as guests, they would have much better manners.

“Honestly, can you believe that rubbish?” Hermione exclaimed, turning to Ron and Harry behind her. Instead of meeting commiserating sentiments like she expected, the pair continued to stare at the Beauxbaton students until they disappeared completely into the castle. Their mouths hung open widely, making them look quite dumb, and Hermione turned to Ginny with a questioning look. Ginny shrugged, also confused over her brother and Harry’s behavior.

Hermione waved her hand in front of the pairs’ faces.

“Hullo! Are you two listening to me?” she asked, frowning.

“Bloody hell, did you see her?” Ron asked, in more of a trance than when he saw Krum.

“Yeah…” Harry said dreamily.

“See who?” Hermione questioned. What was wrong with them? They hadn’t acted like this since…oh goodness. Not since the Veelas at the Quidditch World Cup.

“Ahhhh it seems our poor baby brother has fallen victim,” George stated woefully, placing a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. She looked up at him and then back down at his hand.

“Why are you fine?” she asked, shrugging off his hand.

“Oh, Alicia and Angelina were sure to snap us out of it,” Fred stated, then placing _his_ hand on her shoulder.

“And how exactly did they do that?” She raised an eyebrow, shrugging off his hand as well.

“Like this!” the twins shouted before reeling back and smacking both Harry and Ron in the back of the head. The two fourth year Gryffindors yelled out in pain, grasping at their heads before spinning around and glaring at Fred and George.

“What the hell was that for?!” Harry barked.

“You were drooling mates,” George smirked.

“And it’s time to go back in,” Fred pointed behind them at the entrance to the castle where most of the students were filing through already.

They followed the crowd back into the castle and through the corridor into the Great Hall. It seemed the Durmstrang students took a special liking to the Slytherins as almost all of them were seated at their table. The Beauxbaton students seated themselves at the Ravenclaw table, much to Ronald’s disdain. And it was Ronald’s unhappiness that also fueled Hermione’s sore mood as well. Silently she ate her dinner and watched as Ron fawned and drooled and ogled the girls from Beauxbaton for the entirety of the night. When a particularly pretty one approached their table asking him for the bouillabaisse, Ron was left speechless.

“Honestly, Ronald. She’s just a girl. You know, like every other girl in this school. Including myself,” Hermione tried to reason with him.

Eyes still trained on the French beauty, Ron responded with incredulity, “That’s ridiculous Hermione. She’s no girl. That right there is a woman. Leagues above any girl here at Hogwarts.”

A woman? What did that even mean? She was only a few years older than Hermione. She didn’t even _look_ that much older. Hermione turned her attention back to the food on her plate and found that she had lost her appetite. So instead, she pulled a book from her bag and buried herself behind it, slowly sinking lower into her seat as the night went on. She missed the moment they revealed the cup that competitors were to put their name in, too engrossed in the words on the page, and when dinner was over, she was the first to leave the Great Hall. Only, she didn’t head straight for the common room like she usually did. Instead, her feet carried her through the castle until she found herself in the library once again. As she seated herself in her favorite corner, she was reminded of something Professor Trelawney had said her third year. _‘Oh you may be young in years, but the heart that beats beneath your bosom is as shriveled as an old maid’s, your soul as dry as the pages of the books to which you so desperately cleave.’_

* * *

“Another potion successfully made brother.” Fred grinned, stretching the muscles in his neck and back.

Fred and George Weasley currently sat in an abandoned classroom as they finished the answer to all their problems. Well past curfew, the pair had just filled two vials with the clear aging potion and capped them triumphantly.

“I’d say that one was particularly easy, wouldn’t you?” George replied, standing up.

“As easy as beating Percy in a game of wits.”

“Off to bed then?”

“Actually, I think I may pop down to the kitchen and grab myself a bite to eat. Clean up here?” Fred asked, motioning around the room. The classroom was their own personal haven; tucked away in an old corner of the castle that few ventured it was their go-to space for all their inventing and brewing needs. It was only thanks to their time with the Marauder’s Map that they knew about it.

“Yeah. See you in the morning Freddie.” George waved goodbye as Fred exited the classroom and headed down towards the kitchens. The low light of the hallway candles washed the castle in a soft glow that contrasted with the icy chill of nighttime. The castle was always cold at night. However, the frigid temperature didn’t bother Fred Weasley as much as usual that night. He was far too excited to be bothered by much of anything, really. Tomorrow was the big day. They were going to enter their names into the Goblet of Fire, and it was going to be glorious. Fred had no idea if one of them would even be picked to compete, but just the idea of winning the prize money was enough to keep a spring in his step and a surge of determination coursing through his veins.

He kept quiet as he tip-toed through the halls, just in case Filch was lurking around corners. Turning down the last corridor he was surprised to see, not the scraggly old Mr. Filch, but the familiar figure of a bushy-haired fourth year. Hermione Granger stood in front of a picture on the wall, the torches in front of her illuminating her and making her hair glow like an ethereal halo.

“Hermione?”

She spun around, glancing back and forth, looking like a frightened animal. Fred stepped closer, out of the shadows so she could see him more clearly. He watched her relax, her shoulders dropping from her ears and slumping forward. She laughed lightly.

“Merlin’s beard, Frederick! You scared me!” Hermione exclaimed with an edge of relief in her voice.

“Shhhh!” Fred hushed her, rushing forward, and covering her mouth with his hand. “Do you want to wake the whole castle with your yelling or just Filch in particular?”

Hermione’s eyes widened in alarm. She stiffened beneath him, the two of them silently listening for any signs of Filch or his wretched cat, Mrs. Norris. When Fred failed to hear anything, he let out a breath of relief and looked down at the little witch in his arms. Suddenly he was awash with the memory of the last time the two of them had been that close. The night in the forest when they were hiding for their lives. He removed his hand and stepped back.

“I didn’t realize it was so late. I was coming back from the library and decided to go for a bit of a walk,” whispered Hermione, looking up at him under the glowing light of the torches. “How are we going to get back to the tower without being seen?”

“Simple. I know a shortcut. Come on.” Fred grabbed Hermione’s hand, pulling her along with him down the corridor. Her hand was small and cold but fit surprisingly well in his own. His stomach growled, and mournfully he thought of the late-night snack he originally set out to get. He continued down the halls at a quick pace until they reached the tapestry he had been looking for. Tapping his wand five times at its center, he pulled back the tapestry to reveal a hidden passageway. He let go of Hermione’s hand and the two slipped behind the tapestry, letting it fall back into place behind them.

“ _Lumos_ ,” Fred spoke softly, lighting the dark space with the tip of his wand.

“Amazing, this must be one of the secret passageways on the Marauders’ Map,” marveled Hermione.

They made their way down the narrow passage, taking up a leisurely pace, not feeling the pressure of getting caught by Filch or his cat. The shuffling of their feet on the cold stone filled the silent space around them as they climbed up stairways and weaved around corners. As they walked, a nagging thought pricked at the back of Fred’s mind until he couldn’t help but voice it.

“So, walks about the castle past curfew. I didn’t take you for the type Granger,” Fred teased. Hermione let out a loud and vulgar scoff. Fred turned, looking down at her incredulously, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The young witch lifted her chin in indignation, “What sort of type did you take me for?”

Fred shrugged, “You know, the good girl type. Doesn’t get into trouble. Doesn’t break rules. Perfect Prefect material.”

“I’ll have you know I break plenty of rules.”

“Yeah, but only when it’s Harry or Ron’s idea,” pressed Fred, hoping to goad her into revealing something he didn’t already know.

“That’s not true!” She turned her head and glared at him.

“No, don’t believe it.” Fred shook his head.

“Well, believe it because it’s true.”

“Prove it.”

“Prove it?”

“Yeah, tell me one rule that you’ve broken that wasn’t Harry or Ron’s idea.” He glanced at the younger witch out of the corner of his eye. Her brows were scrunched together, her pink lips pouting as she thought. Then her face opened in excitement, eyebrows lifting and mouth opening, revealing her large front teeth below her upper lip.

“In first year, it was my idea for Harry to sneak into the restricted section of the library over Christmas holiday,” she stated proudly.

“That doesn’t count! You only thought of the idea; you made Harry do all the dirty work,” countered Fred.

“Alright, in second year I brewed Polyjuice in the girl’s lavatory _and_ nicked lacewing flies from Professor Snape’s office to do it,” said Hermione triumphantly as they reached the end of the passageway, coming out the other side right next to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Hermione spun around, crossing her arms in front of her as she waited for his response.

“Who’d have thought that _the_ Hermione Granger was such a delinquent,” praised Fred, grinning widely. He was truly impressed. He had no idea that the bright little witch had it in her to steal from a teacher.

Hermione sniffed haughtily. “That’ll teach you to underestimate me, Frederick Weasley,” she stated coolly, but her golden brown eyes shown with flee, like he had just given her the best compliment in the world. He then watched in awe as she turned around, mutter the password, and disappeared through the portrait into Gryffindor tower.

“It sure will Granger, it sure will.”


	6. Hurts to Be Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day has come for names to be entered and names to be called from the Goblet of Fire. 
> 
> Fred ponders a relationship till then overlooked. 
> 
> Hermione finds her hopes for the year crumbling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, this is a long one so strap in! 
> 
> I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)!
> 
> Please, please, please feel free to leave kudos and comments. I love hearing people's thoughts and opinions on the story!
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_Take from me what you can hold  
The things I need, already sold  
I'll try to be somebody else  
Or find new ways to be myself_

* * *

It was warm in the messy confines of Fred’s dormitory that Saturday morning. Every day the stove placed in the center of the room heated the small space perfectly, making the thought of leaving his bed inconceivable. Today was no different from any other day. Rolling over onto his side, Fred pulled back the curtains surrounding his bed and squinted as the sunlight assaulted his eyes. The grounds were grey and hazy. Clouds sat low and full in the sky, threatening to drop heavy rain at any moment. Fred watched a single droplet of condensation make its slow descent down the windowpane before letting the curtain fall back into place. Encompassed in darkness once again, he closed his eyes. Today was the day.

“Oi! Freddie! Get out of bed, you lazy arse—" George laughed, hitting the curtains near his face “—It’s already half past ten!”

Half past ten? Had he really slept that late? Usually he was the early riser between him and his brother – always waking up first to putz around until the rest of the world joined him. But his eyes didn’t finally close until nearly four in the morning after returning to the tower from his nighttime stroll with Granger. The moment his head hit the pillow he couldn’t stop thinking about the goblet and the tournament, and most importantly the money. Merlin, they needed that money. Then of course there was the thought of a small bushy-haired second year Granger sneaking into Professor Snape’s office. Every time he tried to clear his mind, visions of the determined look on her face as she tiptoed into the greasy professor’s private store of ingredients filled his head.

“Seriously, get up! I’m hungry and I _will_ leave you!” George threatened, pulling back the curtains completely, blinding Fred in the process. He let out a startled cry.

“Up!” George said exasperatedly, placing his hands on his hips. Fred tried very hard not to laugh at his brother but couldn’t help it.

“What’s so funny?” George asked, leaning further into one hip.

“I hate to break it to you brother, but you may as well be mum right now,” informed Fred as he sat up.

George looked from Fred to his hands placed stubbornly on his hips and gasped.

“Dear god, all this time I was worried about turning into dad, and somewhere along the way I’ve turned into mum!” cried George, mortified at his realization.

“Well, as long as you can cook like her, I’m not complaining. Do you think you’ll wear the apron too?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny,” George replied.

Fred pulled his covers back and swung his legs off the bed. His eyes felt heavy and gritty, like they were full of sand. Stupid Granger with her curly hair and her freckly nose, wandering the castle late at night. It was her fault that he hadn’t slept well. He stood and stretched his arms high above his head, feeling the muscles in his back give and pull. He really needed to start exercising again. With the quidditch season canceled due to the tournament, there was really no reason for him and George to go out flying and hit bludgers every day. He missed it and so did his body, as he could already feel himself getting weaker. With a yawn, he walked over to his trunk and grabbed some clothes.

“Ready for today, Freddie ol’ boy?” asked George. He was pacing the small dormitory, excitement coursing through him.

“Yeah,” Fred responded, pulling his shirt over his head.

“Just yeah? Come on! We’re about to make history brother! The brilliant Weasley twins that fooled Dumbledore himself!” George grabbed Fred by the shoulders and shook him. Fred rolled his eyes with a smile on his face.

“Well when that happens you can have all the fame and glory. As long as I get to keep all the gold,” wagered Fred, slipping his shoes on and pulling a jumper on as well. He grabbed his robes and slipped his arms through the sleeves as he headed towards the door, George following closely behind him.

They walked towards the Great Hall, George jabbering a mile a minute about what people would say when they managed to get their names in at only sixteen years old. As they grew nearer, Fred’s nerves began to take over. What if it didn’t work? What if they failed? Why hadn’t they thought of an alternative incase the aging potion didn’t work? Fred could feel the small glass vial in his pocket, bouncing off his thigh as they descended the staircase. Absentmindedly he slipped his hand into the pocket of his robe and palmed the small vessel. His stomach flipped and his hand grew sweaty around the glass. He retracted his hand quickly, a stinging sensation lasting on his fingers tips as if the vial had burned his flesh. Before he knew it, they were at the entrance of the Great Hall and the Goblet of Fire stood before them. Students, Hogwarts and visiting schools alike, filled the entrance space. Some sat on the floor, others stood casually, but all watched the goblet as each brave individual walked up and placed their name into its glowing depths. Fred of course, had seen the goblet the night before at dinner, but that morning it stood more ominous and magnificent than before. Carved out of an ancient wood, it stood solid and archaic. A crystal blue light emanated from within it, swirling up every time someone placed a slip of parchment inside.

“There they are!” Fred heard his younger brother shout and turned to his left. Ron, Harry, and Hermione were headed in their direction, Ron leading the pack with great enthusiasm.

“Do you have it?” Ron asked, referring to the potion that sat sagely in his and George’s pockets.

“Sure do,” Fred said, pushing his worries down and pulling the vial from his pocket with great flourish.

“And you think it’ll work?” Ron looked up at them expectantly.

“Of course, little brother. Cooked it up just last night,” George remarked cockily.

“Where’s mine?” Ron asked in confusion.

“Excuse me?” Fred and George scoffed together.

“You said that you’d make me some!” Ron exclaimed, his face scrunching in anger.

“Now why would we ever do a thing like that Georgie?” Fred asked, finding a comforting distraction in tormenting his baby brother.

“I don’t know Freddie. I think he’s gone mad,” George responded.

Fred shared a smile with George before looking back down at Ron, whose face was a brilliant shade of red. It was clear he felt cheated by them. It was true that in the excitement of it all, Fred and George agreed to make him a dose of aging potion as well. George had been all too ready, but Fred remembered just how livid their mum would be if they succeeded and her little dim-witted Ronikins somehow got his name chosen. She would have killed them. So, at Fred’s suggestion, they did not make any extra potion for Ron.

“Don’t worry Ronald, it’s not going to work anyways,” the haughty little voice of Hermione Granger piped up as she stepped forward and placed her hand on Ron’s shoulder. Fred eyed her hand curiously; he couldn’t recall ever seeing Granger touch Ron before, aside from hitting him of course.

“Oh really? And why is that Granger?” George swooped in, coming around to her side.

“Yeah, Granger. Why?” asked Fred. He followed his twin’s lead, pushing past Ron so they surrounded the young witch. He hoped his voice held the same cock-sure confidence that George’s did, for beneath it all he secretly hoped to know exactly why she didn’t think it would work. Hermione scoffed and pointed towards the goblet to their left.

“Do you see _that_ surrounding the Goblet? —" She moved her hand, mimicking the circular shape of the glowing blue line on the stone floor “— _That_ is an age line. Professor Dumbledore drew it himself.”

“So?” Fred asked indignantly. He looked around and noticed a crowd had begun to form, watching the conversation between them and the brightest witch of their age. Fred steeled himself, unwilling to look like a nervous prat in front of all his peers.

Hermione scoffed again. “So, only someone as pathetically dimwitted as yourselves would think that it could possibly be fooled by something as simple as an aging potion.”

“Ahhhh but that’s why it’s so brilliant, Granger,” George laughed, leaning in.

“Because it’s so pathetically dim-witted,” finished Fred, gripping the vial of aging potion tighter in his palm. The pair stepped up to the blue line, all eyes trained on them as they uncorked their vials in synchronized flair.

“Ready Freddie?”

Fred took a deep breath and looked at his brother before turning back to the potion in his hand. “Ready Georgie.”

“Bottoms up!” the two exclaimed before tipping the vials past their lips. The cool liquid slid down Fred’s throat with ease, settling in his stomach in a warm pool. Fred tried to feel if the potion had worked. He certainly didn’t feel any older. Although why would he? It was only supposed to age them by a few months. Then, taking quite literally a leap of faith, he hopped over the line. Feet planted firmly onto the concrete; Fred let out a breath of relief when he met no resistance. Whoops and whistles erupted from the room as Fred and George shared a small silent victory. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed the small slip of parchment with his name on it and locked eyes with George as their hands hovered over the goblet. With a nod, they let go. The papers floated into the blue fire. Fred held his breath and…nothing. His heart lifted with joy; they had done it! He couldn’t believe it! Turning towards the crowd, he raised his fists above his head as cheers continued. Everyone was clapping; everyone except Hermione Granger.

She smirked at him—a secret only she was partial to written on her face. Then he felt a strong grip around his middle. Like a giant’s hand it lifted him into the air and threw him across the room. Fred landed hard on the ground, cushioned only partially by another body who turned out to be George. Except it wasn’t really George. He was older and grey, with a long beard. Horrified, Fred reached up and felt his own face. Sure enough, his hands found long scraggly whiskers. The room, which previously roared with cheers of triumph, had gone silent. However, the silence did not last for long. Very quickly, laughter took its place.

“You said it would work!” Fred shouted at George, leaping forward, and wrestling him backwards.

“You agreed with me!” George retorted, rolling them over so he was on top, knee placed in Fred’s chest as he stubbornly tried to knock George upside the head.

“Gentlemen!” The stern voice of Professor McGonagall resonated through the entrance to the Great Hall. Fred and George froze. Their head of house stood above them – dark hair pulled into a severe bun at the nape of her neck, and arms crossed disapprovingly. A thick scowl marked her face.

“I suggest the two of you take yourselves up to the hospital wing and quit making a fool of yourselves and your house, before I feel inclined to subtract five points from each of you.” Her eyes narrowed behind her spectacles as she waited for them to stand. Slowly Fred drug himself to his feet and held out a hand for George. His brother took it reluctantly. Neither of them enjoyed the long walk of shame down the halls on their way to the hospital wing. Giggles followed; mocking them as they went. Of course, the two did their best to play the faux pas off as if it were nothing. They winked and waved at those they passed, knowing that in the grand scheme of things it really could be worse.

Several hours later Fred and George were still in the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey had been kind enough to allow them to wait there as they made the slow transition from old men to teenagers. He and George were on good terms once again as they were never actually mad at each other in the first place. They even found a way to laugh at the position they had gotten themselves into. The two were very pleased to see that they would, in fact, one day be able to grow beards as glorious as their headmaster himself. George made a comment about how handsome they were, even at age eighty. Fred joked that they would still be able to woo the ladies whilst in their nursing homes. They laughed. Now George lay dozing across the room in his bed and Fred sat twiddling his fingers, bored out of his mind. He thoughts drifted but never landed on a single topic as he stared at the ceiling above him. So far lost in his head, he didn’t even notice someone entering the room until a hand on his shoulder startled him out of his stupor.

“There you are.” Angelina smiled. Fred smiled back scooting over on the small hospital bed for Angelina to sit. Effortlessly she slid in next to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Come to visit me in my time of need?” asked Fred smugly.

“More like I heard what happened and had to see for myself—” smirked Angelina “—You look ridiculous by the way.

Fred picked up a tray from his bedside table and held it in front of his face. In the shiny metal he could just make out his warped reflection staring back at him. He certainly did look ridiculous. His usually bright ginger hair was speckled with patches of snow white. The beard was halfway gone, leaving long white mutton chops on the sides of his face. There was still the faintest trace of wrinkles near his eyes, but they had almost completely disappeared on the rest of his face. Fred couldn’t help but laugh at just how hilarious he looked. So hilarious, that he began to think of ways to replicate the look for a possible W.W.W. product.

“When I heard what happened I was devastated that I hadn’t been there to see it myself,” teased Angelina.

“Well I’m glad you weren’t. You do _not_ need that kind of leverage over me. It’s bad enough that Hermione—”

“Hermione?”

“Granger—” Fred corrected himself “—she told us from the start that it wasn’t going to work. Looks like she was right. Like always.” He rolled his eyes.

“Since when do you spend time with the resident Golden Girl?” Angelina asked, her face one of curiosity.

“I don’t really. It was more just a thing in passing. You know how she always has to give her opinion,” responded Fred picking at the skin around his thumb. “So, if you weren’t there this morning, where were you?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I was out on the pitch, getting in some practice. It’s absolutely rubbish that quidditch was canceled this year. I don’t know what to do with myself.” Angelina frowned.

“Well you did put your name into the goblet, didn’t you? You could be doing that this year,” Fred suggested, turning his head to look at her. The corners of her lips rose into a sweet smile.

  
“Yeah, maybe. D’you reckon I’d be good enough to win if I got chosen?”

“Of course!”

“You really think so?”

“Absolutely. I think you’re brilliant, you know that Angie.” Fred wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. Angelina rested her head on his chest and sighed. They sat there for a while. George’s soft snores lilted through the room, filling the silence, and Fred began to think again. It was nice having Angelina in his arms; it felt comfortable and easy. But there was an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach, almost like the feeling he got when he made mum cry. Fred wracked his brain for why he would be feeling something like that but when he came up empty, he simply chocked it up to a side effect of the spell backfire.

“I’m not sleeping with you until you’re back to normal by the way,” said Angelina, breaking the silence.

“What?! That’s an absolute outrage Miss Johnson!” Fred sat up, positioning himself so he hovered over the pretty girl.

“Oh really?” She raised an eyebrow in playful defiance.

“Really. I won’t stand for it,” Fred jested.

“How about just a kiss then to compromise,” Angelina proposed.

“I guess. I’ll take what I can get,” Fred sighed dramatically, sending Angelina into a fit of giggles as Fred leaned down to press his lips gently to hers. It was a sweet kiss, just the soft brush of lips that lasted for a moment. When it ended Fred rolled onto his back and Angelina slipped her hand into his. The churning in his stomach returned. They laid there for a while, enjoying each other’s embrace, until Angelina stood and made her goodbyes. It wasn’t until she exited the hospital wing that George magically awoke.

“Ahhh young love,” sighed George, sitting up and stretching. “But wait, there seems to be trouble in paradise. What seems to be disrupting the natural chemistry of the happy couple?” he asked, his tone mocking but expression one of genuine concern.

“What _are_ you talking about?” asked Fred, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

“Don’t play dumb with me Freddie; you’re too good at it.”

“Come now. We both know I’m the brains of this operation. Calling me dumb would just insult you more than me.”

“You’re avoiding the subject.”

“I’m not avoiding anything!”

“Ah and now he’s defensive.”

“I am NOT—” it was at that point Fred realized he _was_ being defensive “—fine. Nothing is really…wrong exactly. It’s just things with Angelina, well I don’t—”

“—think you want to sleep with her anymore?” George finished his sentence for him, looking at Fred like he was an idiot.

“I don’t know. I think it’s just been an off day,” muttered Fred, rolling onto his side.

George raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to pout. I was merely suggesting that perhaps you’re getting cold feet because it’s obvious Angelina wants something more than just a quick shag in a secret passageway these days.”

Fred grimaced. “We shag _once_ in the passageway behind Gregory the Smarmy and you never let me live it down!”

“Only because I had the unfortunate luck of walking in on it!”

The two stared at each other for a long moment before bursting into laughter. As their laughs trickled into contented sighs, the two laid back in their respective beds with a new-found ease.

“Do you really think she wants something more?” asked Fred, feeling the churning in his stomach begin again.

“You don’t see any of the girls I’m shagging coming in and holding my hand.”

Fred chuckled, “That’s because you’re not shagging anyone.”

“Well no, but still…”

“Yeah, still.”

Fred pondered on the thought for a while. Angelina Johnson wanted to be his girlfriend. He supposed he could do a lot worse. She was pretty – prettiest girl in their year if he was being honest, fun – she never ragged on him or George for being troublemakers, and she liked quidditch – probably more than he did. No, as far as girlfriends went, Angelina Johnson was probably the best possible option he could think of. So, despite the persistent churning in his stomach, he concluded that when the time came, he wouldn’t be opposed to calling Angelina his girlfriend. With that problem solved he moved onto his next issue. The money. How were they ever going to afford their dreams when they just lost their only other option? Ludo Bagman had yet to answer their owl and at this point they were beginning to think the leprechaun money mix-up might not have been a mix-up at all.

“What are we going to do now Georgie?” Fred asked, shifting his eyes from the ceiling to his twin.

“I don’t know mate. I’m not really a relationship expert,” laughed George.

Fred rolled his eyes with a smile. “I mean about the money you prat. The only reason we wanted to compete in the tournament was for the money. Now that it’s out of the picture, we’re at a bit of a loss.”

“Speak for yourself. I was in it for the fame and nothing more!” George joked before returning to a more serious note. “Don’t worry brother. We’ll figure something out. We always do. We’re much too clever to sit around and wait for a solution.” His words were reassuring but Fred knew George was just as disappointed as him. And the only thing worse than feeling hopeless was knowing his brother felt just as bad. Springing to his feet, Fred reached for his shoes.

“Come on then old man,” said Fred, tying his laces.

“Where are you going?” George asked in confusion.

“Not me – we. _We_ are going to go have fun and forget about all this for a while.” Fred stood and threw on his robes before looking back at his twin who was now getting to his feet as well. Once George’s shoes were laced up and his robes were on, they exited the hospital wing. Fred glanced at his brother as they strolled down the halls and smirked. While his appearance was almost completely back to normal, grey still speckled George’s hair giving him a distinguished look. Perhaps that’s what they would look like in fifteen or twenty years when they were adults with jobs and families of their own.

“So, what’s on the agenda Freddie? A few Whizz Poppers in the prefects’ bath? Portable Swamp in Filch’s office? Some Ton-Tongue Toffee for the first years?” mused George as they strolled.

“Nope, flying,” Fred responded, steering them towards the quidditch pitch. George nodded in approval.

“Ahhh, some old school entertainment. Couldn’t think of anything better brother.”

* * *

Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table with Harry and Ron, debating excitedly over who they thought the goblet would choose to compete in the tournament. Ron of course was certain Viktor Krum would be chosen for Durmstrang. They had witnessed the Bulgarian enter his name shortly after McGonagall sent the twins to the hospital wing after their…unfortunate mishap. Hermione smiled at the memory. Few things fill her with pure joy and apparently watching the Weasley twins completely and utterly embarrass themselves was one of them. They, of course, were making the best of the situation. The minute they sat down in the Great Hall they began making jokes at their own expense, beating everyone to the punch. It was annoyingly charming.

“But Krum is the obvious choice!” Ron bellowed, beating his fist down on the table for emphasis.

“On what grounds Ronald?” Hermione asked. She made sure to lean towards him as she spoke, taking up his full attention like she’d been instructed to do. She still wasn’t sure how good her roommates advise was, but it was certainly better than carrying on as she had been.

_“Okay! That’s it! I can’t take it anymore,” exclaimed Lavender, throwing up her hands._

_Hermione who had been quietly seated in the small windowsill reading from her arithmancy book, looked over to her roommate with mild interest._

_“Lav, really. Just let it go. It doesn’t matter,” said Pavarti, brushing another coat of Wicked Witches’ Pigmy Puff Powder Blue nail polish onto her left thumb._

_“No! I’m fed up with it!”_

_Hermione was just about to inquire as to who or what she was fed up with, when she made the gut-wrenching realization that Lavender was talking about her. Lavender Brown, the pretty fourth year with her golden-brown hair stomped in her direction in a huff. Crookshanks, who had been dozing peacefully in Hermione’s lap, leapt to his feet, and stared untrustingly at Lavender, his tail raised high swishing back and forth._

_“Listen, Hermione, I realize not everyone has the fortitude to study as much as you do, but this really has to stop. I thought last year was bad, but at least you had the common decency to sleep during regular human hours!”_

_“Lav—”_

_“No! Someone needs to tell her,” said Lavender to Fay, who had very kindly tried to halt Lavender’s beratement. “You’re up at all hours of the night studying or mumbling to yourself under your breath the way you always do. You come and go from the room at the oddest hours. It’s interrupting with all our sleep! I know getting good marks is important to you, but you can’t possibly need to study this much!”_

_“I think what Lavender is_ trying _to say—” said Fay, sending a pointed stare in Lavender’s direction “—is that we’re worried about you. What’s going on Hermione? You can tell us.”_

 _Hermione looked to Fay in appreciation. She always liked Fay the most out of all her roommates. Fay Dunbar was a spunky girl who spent most of her time with their fifth roommate, a mousy ginger girl named Emmy, who hardly ever spoke. But that didn’t seem to matter as Fay did most of the talking for her, always chatting on about quidditch or Gobstones. While Lavender and Pavarti were interested in things Hermione labeled as silly, Fay was at least capable of conversation that didn’t lead to hair, clothes, boys, or a combination of all three. In fact, Fay’s goal to one day be an auror led to many interesting conversations about their Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Now, for once she wished Fay had kept quiet. Lavender and Pavarti didn’t care_ why _Hermione wasn’t sleeping these days. They only cared how it affected them. However, now that Fay had inquired on her well-being, she had to come up with something to say. For a moment she contemplated on just telling them the truth about her nightmares. But then an even better idea popped into her head. It was in that moment Hermione realized she could use Lavender’s own trivial interests to kill two birds with one stone. So, with a heavy sigh, Hermione placed her book down next to her and buried her face in her hands._

_“I’m so sorry Lavender. It’s just that…well I’ve been having a bit of boy trouble…” Hermione trailed off, fighting off a satisfied smirk when Lavender’s eyes widened in interest._

_“Ooooo,” squealed Lavender, rushing forward to sit on the rug in front of Hermione. Pavarti joined her, looking equally as excited. “Hermione Granger having boy troubles? I never would have imagined!”_

_Even Fey and Emmy perked up from their beds, looking to Hermione with interest. Hermione took a deep breath, situating herself so sat upright, Crookshanks lying comfortable in her lap again._

_“Well I guess it all started with this dream I had…”_

_Hermione went on to paint a lamenting tale of girl likes boy, girl thinks boy might like her, but then boy makes stupid comment about another girl. She stretched the story to encapsule the whole two months they’d been in school, instead of merely the past forty-eight hours, but kept almost all the details the same. Hermione figured it couldn’t hurt to seek advice about her recent Ron-related issue, and she also felt Lavender might be kinder about her unusual sleeping patterns if it were over something she could relate to – such as a boy. Looking at the contemplative looks on Lavender and Pavarti’s faces, she knew she had been right._

_“Oh Hermione, we had no idea!” Lavender exclaimed, pushing up onto her knees and wrapping her arms around Hermione in a big hug. Hermione, unused to such physical contact, stiffened for a moment before reciprocating the kind gesture._

_“Boys are so stupid!” Pavarti cried, rolling her eyes, and falling onto her back in the middle of the rug._

_“I don’t get it,” said Fay scrunching her eyebrows. “How do you know the dream was about Ron when you never saw his face?”_

_Hermione shrugged. “I had the same thought, but I came to the conclusion that there wasn’t really anyone else it could have been.”_

_“I don’t know…those older boys. Fred and George. They’re pretty cute,” remarked Emmy quietly with a giggle. The girls turned to Emmy with amazement at her declaration._

_“Isn’t that considered incest or something?” Fay asked cheekily._

_Emmy grabbed a pillow and threw it at her friend. “Not all gingers are related you twit!”_

_Fay laughed, using the beater bat beside her bed to block the pillow, sending it back towards Emmy._

_“Hmmm Fred and George are cute, but they’re so unruly,” said Lavender scrunching her nose at the thought. Then, turning her attention back to Hermione she took a much more serious tone, “I’m glad you came to us with this problem Hermione. Really, I wish you had asked us sooner, but all the same I’m here to help now!”_

_Hermione braced herself for the advice that was about to come._

_“I think what you need is a makeover!”_

_At the mention of a makeover, Pavarti perked up, propping herself on her elbows and smiling widely._

_“I don’t know how comfortable I am with that Lavender…” said Hermione, suddenly regretting her decision to turn to her roommates for advice on the matter._

_“You’re right. I don’t any of us could afford the amount of Sleekeazy’s it would take the tame your hair anyways—” Lavender bit her lip in thought as Hermione let the mild insult roll off her back “—oh! I’ve got it! You just need to make yourself known!”_

_“I’m pretty sure Ron knows who she is,” laughed Fay._

_“Well yes, but only as a friend,” sighed Lavender in Fay’s direction. “What you need to do is make yourself known as a_ woman _.” Lavender waggled her eyebrows at the word._

_“A woman? How would I do that?” asked Hermione, finally intrigued by Lavender’s insight._

_“It doesn’t have to be anything big. It can be small things like touching his shoulder, laughing at his jokes, standing close to him. Anything to make him notice you as something other than another one of his mates. His fascination with the French girls will fade eventually, but_ you _have the opportunity to make a lasting impression.”_

_“Well, I suppose that doesn’t sound too hard.”_

That whole morning she’d been attempting to follow Lavender’s advice. Every opportunity she encountered, she made sure to touch Ron in some small way. She stood close to him when walking from the common room to the Great Hall. And when they sat down at the Gryffindor table, she made sure to squeeze as close as possible to his side without it being odd.

“Yeah, are you about to tell us you know more about the inner workings of the Goblet of Fire than the rest of us?” asked Ginny, backing Hermione’s question up with a roll of her eyes.

“I bet you a week’s worth of chores this summer that Krum’s name gets called for Durmstrang,” challenged Ron to his sister. The fiery girl’s eyes lit up and she thrust out her hand.

“Make it a month and you’re on,” she countered. They shook hands.

“Hey Granger—” Hermione turned to her left at the sound of Fred’s voice “—bet you ten knuts that Ginny wins.”

Hermione shook her head, “I don’t gamble Frederick.”

“What? Too good for a little wager but not too good to steal?”

Hermione should have known she’d regret telling him about her second-year escapades. She just never assumed it would be so soon. By the time she ran into Fred in the hallway the night before, she had worked herself into such a frenzy over Ron, she really would have done anything for Fred’s approval. Now, she couldn’t understand why she would want his approval in the first place. Still, that didn’t stop her next words from tumbling from her mouth.

“Ten knuts and a week’s supply of sugar quills,” she said, before turning her attention back to her friends around her.

“Who do you think’ll get picked for Hogwarts?” asked Harry, picking at the remnants of his treacle tart.

“Well statistically, the Slytherins have an advantage,” stated Hermione. “They had the most students enter.”

The table around her collectively groaned.

“Well if it is one of the Slytherins I hope they lose,” grimaced Harry.

“Yea, I’d rather have Beauxbatons or Durmstrang win before giving the Slytherins one more thing to inflate their egos,” Seamus interjected across from them. They all laughed.

It was then that the expanse of the Great Hall tables cleared, catching Hermione off guard. Regretfully, she wished she had taken one more bite of her pumpkin pasty. Dumbledore stood, extinguishing all but a few of the candles in the room with a flick of his wand. Madame Maxime, headmistress of Beauxbatons and Igor Karkaroff remained seated at his sides looking stiff. Further down the table two ministry officials, Ludo Bagman and Bartemius Crouch wore very different expressions. Ludo Bagman appeared as though any moment he was going to bounce right out of his seat in excitement. Mister Crouch on the other hand, couldn’t look any more bored if he tried. With the Great Hall now cast in eerie opacity, the students were quite silent. The whole room sat on edge as they watched the stately Hogwarts headmaster levitate the Goblet of Fire through the hall till it was front and center for all to see.

“I do believe the goblet is almost ready to make its decision. I estimate we have two minutes to spare,” declared the eccentric Headmaster. He then went on introduce Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman, explaining they would be acting as impartial judges for the tournament along with the three headmasters. Hermione nodded, finding that incredibly fair and well thought out. Dumbledore then instructed that those whose names were called from the goblet would exit the Hall through a side door into the next chamber where they would wait for further instructions. After this last bit of information, the room returned to silence. All eyes remained on the goblet, the occasional student checked their watches, waiting for the longest two minutes of their lives to pass. Then, the icy blue light within the goblet transitioned to a brilliant red. So brilliant and alive it was if a fire burned deep inside of it. Sparks floated out from the top before a tongue of flames lapped through the air. The whole room gasped. When the flames were gone, the only thing remaining was a small bit of charred parchment floating down towards the stone floor.

Dumbledore caught the paper effortlessly and read from it before looking back into the crowd and decreeing in a boisterous voice, “The Durmstrang champion is, VIKTOR KRUM!”

The room erupted into applause, Ron’s being some of the loudest, rivaling all the Durmstrang students put together. Krum stood and walked to the front of the hall, his fists raised high in triumph and then disappeared into the next chamber. Hermione looked across from her to see Ginny’s head in her hands. Briefly she cast a glance in Fred’s direction. He was already looking at her.

“I expect those sugar quills by next Hogsmeade weekend Frederick,” said Hermione before turning back to the front of the room.

As soon as Krum disappeared into the adjoining chamber, the cheers died down and all eyes were back on the goblet in anticipation. They didn’t have to wait long. A few moments later, flames shot from the goblet, this time almost licking the ceiling.

“The champion for Beauxbatons is, FLEUR DELACOUR!” cried Dumbledore.

At the announcement, Harry and Ron lit up. Ron seemed even happier than when Viktor’s name was called, and Hermione felt a sinking feeling form in the pit of her stomach. Lavender and Pavarti caught her eye as Ron cheered, giving her a sympathetic look. Looking away from them, she watched as the girl, who uncannily resembled a Veela, gracefully glided up to the front of the room. Hermione glanced back at the rest of the students from Beauxbatons. They were devastated. Two girls who had not been chosen were in tears, a full meltdown threatening to occur. Hermione rolled her eyes so hard, she risked getting them stuck in the back of her head. So much for school spirit, she thought.

Once Fleur was gone from the room as well, everyone was once again watching the goblet. This was the moment they had really been waiting for – the Hogwarts champion. Flames shot up into the air for the third and final time, expelling another charred bit of parchment. It floated gently into Dumbledore’s hand. The headmaster spent a bit longer looking over the name this time, no doubt for added effect, before smiling and turning to the crowd.

“The champion for Hogwarts is, CEDRIC DIGGORY!”

The Hufflepuff table erupted into cheers so loud, you would have thought they were triple their size. They jumped and stomped and clapped more enthusiastically than anymore at Hogwarts had ever seen. Hermione clapped as well as the handsome Hufflepuff boy stood, all smiles as he walked to the front of the Great Hall. He shook Dumbledore’s hand enthusiastically and headed towards the door behind the teacher’s table. The cheering continued for some time, only halting when Dumbledore called for attention. Pleasantly, Hermione thought of how excited Diggory’s dad would be, having seen just how proud a father he was that summer.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore called elatedly. “We now have our three champions and I am hoping that each and every one of you will carry on this enthusiasm throughout the year. Your support can make—" his voice cut off. Students gasped in surprise as the goblet began to glow for a fourth time. Hermione frowned; something wasn’t right. Sparks soared, a large flame shot into the air, and with it came a fourth piece of parchment. Dumbledore seized the parchment, his face blank. He stared at the name, and the room stood still.

Finally, Dumbledore cleared his throat and spoke.

“Harry Potter.”

The room stayed silent, stunned by the name that had just left the headmaster’s mouth. Hermione turned and stared at her best friend. Her heart fell. His face was filled with shock and confusion as he stared back at her and then at Ron.

“I didn’t put my name in,” Harry stated to himself more than to them. Hermione was at a loss for words. What she wanted to say was that she believed him. That she knew that he would never put his name in, but her throat closed, and she froze.

At Harry’s delay, Dumbledore called his name again, louder and forbidding. Harry looked from Dumbledore to his two best friends, desperation emanating from every part of his being. His eyes pleaded with them, begged them for help.

“Harry, go up,” Hermione told him, finally finding her voice and wishing she could say something better; wishing he didn’t have to go but knowing it was the only thing he could do at the moment. Truthfully, she wanted to grab him and pull him out of the room. She wanted to look every last person in the eye, Dumbledore included, and tell them no. No, Harry Potter’s name was not called. Harry Potter’s name was _not_ called, and he will _not_ be competing. You’ve made a mistake.

She watched with teary eyes as Harry stood shakily and walked to the front. As he moved, students began to yell out in anger. Shouts of ‘cheat’ and outcries that he wasn’t ‘even seventeen yet’ were heard from every part of the Great Hall. Hermione looked away; she couldn’t watch her best friend walk into a death trap as students ridiculed him. Instead she stared blankly at the table in front of her and worried her lip. Maybe they wouldn’t let him compete. Clearly some kind of mistake or foul play was at hand here. Dumbledore was a rational man. He wouldn’t possibly send a fourteen-year-old boy to compete in a deadly tournament. It was just crazy! Yes, Dumbledore would fix this. He would protect Harry. Hermione continued to reason with herself, telling herself that things would be alright and that everything would turn out okay, until she felt Ron shaking her shoulder.

“You alright Hermione?” Ron asked, looking at her apprehensively.

“Yes, yes I’m fine,” she responded, running her hands over her hair which suddenly felt twice its normal size. It always seemed to do that when she was stressed. Ron nodded.

“Ready to go?” he pointed towards the large double door entrance of the Great Hall. Hermione looked between it and the side door Harry had disappeared through.

“Shouldn’t someone wait for Harry?” she suggested. Ron made a sour face.

“Nah, he’ll be alright. Who knows how long it’ll take anyway. Let’s just go back to the tower.” He rubbed at his nose, making the skin all pink and flushed. Hermione was hesitant to agree but Ron had a point. They had no idea how long Harry would be and of course they would be there in the tower when he got back. So, she got to her feet and walked with Ron back up to the tower. Upon arriving, Ron exited up the stairs to his room without a single word to her. This struck Hermione as very odd, but Ron’s problems were the least of her worries now. Instead she ran up to her room and pulled out the book she had checked out on the Triwizard Tournament at the beginning of the term. She was going to wait for Harry and while she did, she was going to do the thing she did best – research. She had to find out why this happened and how to get Harry out of it. Many hours later, when the common room was empty, all the other students having trickled off to bed, Hermione decided to turn in. It was half past one and Harry had yet to return but she figured she’d catch him in the morning. Merlin knew she would be awake.

The next morning Hermione arose at her usual ungodly hour, despite having stayed up so late, and went down to the common room to wait for Harry. Her nerves were still recovering from her nightly bad dream when she spotted him coming down the stairs looking very angry. She waved to him, but instead of greeting her back, he walked past her and through the portrait exit. Hermione stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and chased after him. On the second floor, she finally managed to catch up to him.

“Harry!” she called after the black-haired boy. He stopped, his shoulders slumping and then pulling back up, squaring himself. He turned around and faced her.

“What Hermione?” he asked, his tone short and filled with annoyance. Hermione took a step back, affronted by his tone. He hadn’t spoken to her like that since she told Professor McGonagall about the broomstick Sirius sent him third year. What had she done?

“What’s wrong?” she asked, realizing how dumb her question was the minute it left her mouth. But his immediate hostility had thrown her for a loop, and she hadn’t known what else to say.

“What’s wrong? Are you serious Hermione? What’s wrong?—" Harry looked at her as if she were as stupid as Crabbe and Goyle “—Let’s see: for one, my name was entered into the Goblet of Fire and called last night, now I’m competing in a tournament that is potentially deadly, and to top it all off my best friend thinks I had something to do with the whole thing!”

Ron. So that’s why Ronald was so angry the night before. It also explained why he hadn’t wanted to wait for Harry either.

“He what? What did he say?” Hermione asked, feeling like she could throttle the red headed dunce.

“He thinks _I_ entered my name into the goblet! Or at least got someone else to do it and he’s mad that I didn’t tell him how I did it.” Harry ran his hands through his messy hair, revealing the scar on his forehead briefly before the dark locks fell back into place.

“Are you sure you have no idea how your name got entered?” Hermione asked, trying to make sense of it all.

“Are you serious?!” Harry exclaimed.

“What?” Hermione looked at her best friend in confusion, now _feeling_ just about as stupid as Crabbe and Goyle. 

“You think I had something to do with this too!” he accused her, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Harry, I never said—"

“No, but you didn’t have to. Merlin, you’re just as bad as Ron! You know, I thought you’d at least believe me, but I guess I was wrong… Just leave me alone Hermione.” and with that Harry walked away leaving Hermione in the corridor alone and completely lost. She stormed back to the tower in a blinding rage, hoping that Ron hadn’t left for breakfast yet. Lucky for her the Weasley in question was sat in a chair with Seamus and Dean chatting and laughing as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Marching over, blood boiling, Hermione grabbed Ron by the ear and dragged him out of the common room and towards the corridor. She could hear Ron’s yelps of protest and see the strange looks from their fellow Gryffindors, but she didn’t care. When they were finally in the safety of the empty corridor, she released him.

“Bloody hell Hermione! What’s wrong with you?” Ron yelled, rubbing his ear.

“Did you seriously accuse Harry of putting his own name into the goblet?!” Hermione cried exasperatedly. Ron looked at her, his expression stony.

“I don’t think it Hermione, I _know_ it.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“You know, this is typical of you Hermione!” Ron yelled back.

“What?!” Hermione responded, feeling like she had had enough whiplash that morning to last her a lifetime.

“You’re always against me! You _never_ take my side!”

“I’d take your side more often if you weren’t _always_ wrong Ronald!”

“Oh, I’m always wrong? You know, you’re not as smart as you like to think you are.”

“Well I think you’re being a horrible friend right now to Harry.” Hermione crossed her arms, ignoring the insult Ron had just accosted her with. She wasn’t there for herself. She was there for Harry.

“Well I think you’re being a horrible friend to me!”

“This isn’t _about_ you Ronald!”

“It’s never about me! It’s always about Harry! It’s not enough that he’s the Boy Who Lived, now he’s had to go and make _this_ about him!” Ron was red in the face now.

“He didn’t put his name in!” Hermione yelled, knowing she might as well be arguing with a wall at that point.

“You know, if you really feel that way then why don’t you go find Mr. Boy Wonder and talk to him!” Ron yelled with finality and stormed back into the common room.

Hermione felt exhausted. She had such high hopes for the year and now in a matter of twenty-four hours everything had completely fallen apart and somehow, she was the bad guy. Having both Harry and Ron mad at her wasn’t something she was unfamiliar with, but having them both mad at her and at each other was entirely new territory. Unsure of what to do with herself she walked towards the library like she usually did when Harry and Ron were upset with her and hoped it would serve her some kind of solace.


	7. Stuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could two friendships on the rocks result in two new ones?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted a tad early this week. Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)!
> 
> Please, please, please feel free to leave kudos and comments. I love hearing people's thoughts and opinions on the story!
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_I'm sitting here stuck  
And plastered to my seat  
I th_ _i_ _nk up a reason to leave  
When you finally stop speaking  
I'll take a long slow  
Walk down Washington Street  
Half asleep on my feet  
Half aware if I'm dreaming_

* * *

Hermione managed to stow herself away in the library for nearly sixteen hours, one of her personal bests, before Madame Pince kicked her out. The grave woman nearly threw her from the premises, claiming she was closing the library early and that despite her biases Hermione should spend some time _away_ from the stacks of books. So now she wandered the castle, lost in thoughts of tournaments, legislature, hidden agendas, and friendship. The castle held the same familiar chill as her feet chose her destination, eventually leading her to a part of the castle only recently familiar to her. At the end of a long corridor, illuminated by two torches placed on either side, hung a painting. Mechanically, Hermione sat on the cold stone, tucking her robes around her, and stared at the landscape that drew her in the first time she saw it three days ago.

Like most paintings in the wizarding world it was enchanted, but instead of some historical witch or wizard as the focal point, the only movement in the frame was the soft sway of long grass and leaves that rustled in the wind. The sun peaked in and out of the clouds, casting ever changing rays of light across the meadow. She felt a calm envelope her as she looked at the bright yellows and peaches of the Adonis and honeysuckle dispersed throughout the grass. Several bees visited the flowers before disappearing from the frame. Hermione followed one as it zigzagged towards the edge of the field near the trees. It stopped on a small patch of zinnias and Hermione felt herself hit with a wave of emotions that had been threatening to capsize her all day. A single tear ran down her cheek as she thought of Ron and Harry. While she was quite familiar with solitude, having grown up an only child and often alienated by her peers, here, sitting on the floor of an empty corridor, she felt for the first time utterly alone.

And despite Harry and Ron’s cruel treatment towards her, she still felt responsible for fixing it. She spent all afternoon trying to figure out how to get her two best friends to cease being angry with each other and how to keep Harry alive this year. By the end she felt no closer to a solution for either problem. Tears continued to fall silently down her face. Hermione’s vision blurred over white gardenias and blue periwinkles, and she remembered the last time she encountered the painting. Her thoughts had been stupid – trivial ramblings questioning her worth as a woman and whether any boy would _ever_ like her. That time the field had been nothing but white heather. What a lovely bit of magic, thought Hermione.

Eventually, when her joints were stiff and backside sore, Hermione stood and made her way back to Gryffindor tower. She walked through the threshold of the portrait hole, thankful that she hadn’t been caught out of bed by Filch or a teacher. Looking around the empty common room, Hermione realized that despite the emotional drain of the day she wasn’t tired. So, she picked up a nearby book left on a table and sat down on the sofa in front of the fire. It hurt to read, her eyes red and puffy from the crying she’d done earlier, but still she pushed on. She had only been there a short while when the sound of the portrait hole opening took her by surprise. Who could be getting in this late? she wondered. Her question was answered when a pair of shaggy red-headed hooligans walked through the opening. Hermione willed herself to be as small as possible. The last thing she needed was the two of them making fun of her in a rare moment of weakness. Much to her dismay the pair noticed her immediately. They walked towards her with large impish grins and Hermione desperately tried to think of how she could get them to go away. Despite her bright nature her brain did nothing for her in that moment and she was left to sink further into the couch, hoping it would swallow her whole.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here Freddie?”

“Why it looks to be our favorite fourth year Georgie.”

The twins seated themselves on either side of her. Hermione hid further into her book, hiding her red eyes and splotchy face. So much for being the brightest witch of her age. She couldn’t even figure out how to escape two bumbling Weasleys.

“Burning the midnight oil Granger?” Fred asked, shaking his hair out of his face.

“You should really give it a rest there,” George teased, nudging her shoulder.

“Yeah, give everyone else in your class a chance. They’ll never come close to your marks if you’re staying up this late studying every night,” added Fred. Hermione remained silent, hidden behind her book. When they received no response, they tried another approach.

“As you can see our grey hair and wrinkles have completely faded,” George pointed out.

“Yes, except I don’t remember the bags under George’s eyes being quite so bad. You better hope that wears off mate or I will definitely be the more handsome twin.” Fred received a smack on the back of the head from his brother for his cheeky remark.

“What Granger? No, ‘I told you so’?” Fred directed his attention back to the little witch between them as he rubbed the back of his head.

“No, ‘you should have listened to me’?”

“No, comment on our dim-witted attempts at fame and fortune?”

They wagged their eyebrows at her, but Hermione remained behind her book, hoping they would consider it a calculated and obvious sign that she was ignoring them. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect, her lack of response only fueling their desire to investigate further. Fred reached over and tugged at the top of the book.

“Hey, what’s this then?” Fred asked, getting a peak at her complexion. He reached towards her face and swiped a thumb across the reddened skin under her eyes. “Why are you crying Granger?”

Hermione shied away from the contact and cursed herself for not doing a glamour spell or at least a disillusionment spell on herself.

“It’s nothing. Um, sad book is all,” she lied, trying to feign indifference. Sad book? Of all the excuses, Hermione berated herself. George grabbed the book from her hands and inspected it.

“I never knew Charms could be so heart-wrenching…we’re not idiots Hermione,” George stated plainly.

“Are you alright?” Fred asked as he lifted her chin. For a second time that night, Hermione felt the weight of the past twenty-four hours fall on her. This time, it was as though her body had been waiting for some sign that it was okay to fall apart, and the twins’ kind gestures had been just that. A short sob escaped her throat and her eyes began to sting as fresh tears welled, daring to spill past her lashes.

“Alright, alright. Come here,” Fred cooed, scooting closer and pulling Hermione onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her in tight. George followed suit, draping her legs over his lap, and giving her calf a reassuring squeeze. Hermione buried her face in Fred’s chest and continued to sob harder than she’d ever cried before. The two silently comforted her, George rubbing a hand up and down her leg and Fred stroking her hair. They sat like that for a while, never saying a word – simply acting as figures of stability. Finally, when her body was no longer wracked with little tremors and her cries subsided into sniffles, Hermione pulled away from Fred and wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve.

“Feel better?” Fred asked, brushing her smothering hair from her face. Hermione nodded, realizing in horror that not only was she currently on top of the twins, but she had ruined Fred’s sweater. Scooting off of their laps, she sniffed and mumbled a meek apology.

“It’s just a few tears. Now, what’s the matter? Are you hurt?” Fred asked.

Hermione shook her head.

“Did someone step on one of your books?”

Again, she shook her head.

“Did you do poorly on an essay?”

Hermione shook her head again and scoffed at the idea.

“Is it…girly problems?” George made a face at the thought.

This caused Hermione to let out a short giggle and shake her head again.

“Then what is it?” Fred pushed.

“You’re going to think it’s ridiculous,” Hermione said, wiping her red and swollen eyes. She knew she must look an awful fright. When they didn’t say anything, she took it as her cue to continue. “It’s Harry and Ron; they’re mad at me. Harry, because he’s convinced that everyone’s against him even though I’m not, and Ronald, because I’m _not_ angry with Harry. I know they’re both under a lot of stress what with the tournament and Ron’s jealousy, but I guess I just feel like neither of them really care how I feel.” She sniffed, shaking her head at how pathetic she must sound.

George looked at his brother. “I should have known that our thick-headed little brother had something to do with all of this. First of all, we don’t think it’s ridiculous,” George stated firmly.

“And secondly, you have every right to be upset,” added Fred.

“Really?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“Of course! They’re being selfish gits and I have half a mind to put itching powder in all their clothes,” Fred fumed.

“But because we know that’s probably the last thing you want us to do—” started George.

“—we won’t. Instead we will remind you that you’re Hermione Granger and absolutely too good for either of those imbeciles.”

“So, next time you see our little Ronikins…”

“—you can tell him exactly where to shove his attitude.”

Hermione smiled. “Thank you. You really don’t have to be this nice.”

“Nonsense, you may be our idiot baby brother’s friend, but we’ve grown quite fond of you,” said Fred with a friendly nudge of her shoulder.

“Yeah, you’re like a second sister to us. No one gets to mess with you but us and that includes our brother and the Boy Who Lived. It’s sort of a rule.” George leaned across Fred and tapped a finger to the end of her nose. Hermione let out a small laugh that turned into an overwhelming yawn. Realizing she was utterly exhausted, Hermione waited for the small bit of anxiety that now came with the thought of sleep these days. To her surprise, it never came.

“Alright Fred, looks like we’ve worn her out.”

“I think you’re right George. Up we go! Time for bed!” Fred decreed, hooking his arms under Hermione, and lifting her into the air.

“Frederick Weasley! Put me down! I am entirely capable of walking. I’m tired, not paralyzed! Hermione crossed her arms and gave the boy a disapproving look. Fred merely smiled politely before placing her down at the base of the stairs leading up to the girls’ dormitories. Hermione let out a little huff and ran her hands over her mussed hair, attempting to flatten it.

“Goodnight you two…and thank you. I suppose I owe you. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll tell you why your aging potion didn’t work, and how you could have _actually_ gotten your names in,” Hermione stated with a small smile.

“I’m calling you on that one Granger,” scoffed George.

“Even you’re not that brilliant!” the twins exclaimed in unison.

Hermione raised a brow and with a twinkle of mischief in her eye, she shrugged her shoulders and began to walk up the stairs.

“I guess you’ll just have to find out,” she threw back at them as she disappeared around the bend.

It was a strange day at Hogwarts that following Monday morning. The weather outside was dark and gloomy once again, but the mood of the students was quite the opposite. The first challenge of the tournament was only three weeks away and the school was abuzz over what it could be, and who would come out on top. Hermione heard whispers in her morning classes of Viktor Krum and Cedric Diggory; it seems they were everyone’s bet. Then of course there were the harsh words and accusations toward her best friend. It hurt her heart to hear such dreadful things about someone she cared for, even if he was being a complete jerk. Malfoy was the worst, with his open mocking and constant bullying in Care of Magical Creatures. Many times, Hermione fantasized about wiping the stupid smirk off his face like she had the year before. But instead she ended up taking her frustrations out on two second year Hufflepuffs gossiping in the library that afternoon.

_“It would do you two well to not talk about things you know nothing about—" she seethed, sliding her things into her bag “—and no talking in the library. Or else I’ll be tasked to inform Madame Pince.”_

She regretted the way she spoke to the younger students. While it certainly taught them a lesson on gossiping, she shouldn’t have been so harsh – they were still young. She didn’t even have her usual excuse of sleep deprivation to blame either. Much to her surprise, after departing to her room, she fell into a deep and peaceful sleep the moment her head hit the pillow. In fact, she slept so deeply and so peacefully that she missed her alarm and had to rush to make it to her first class on time. It wasn’t until she was in her seat, quill in hand, that the memories of the night before came rushing back and Hermione had to focus to determine whether it had all been a strange dream or not. The oddities only continued to pile up, as just before lunch she realized she had completely forgotten to write a short Transfiguration essay that was due later that day. She had no idea how it managed to slip her mind, as it was very out of character for her to forget an assignment at all. She rushed to the library, forgoing lunch and came upon the next strange thing to happen that day. Viktor Krum, of all people, was seated at her favorite table. This forced her to sit at a different one, much too far from the window overlooking the lake and much too close to the stacks, which resulted in her overhearing the two Hufflepuffs.

Now, as she made her way to the Great Hall for dinner, stomach growling, she realized her sour response might have been a result of low blood sugar.

It seemed Hermione’s whole day was destined to be a whirlwind of obstacles, for as she entered the Great Hall, she faced her next challenge – where to sit. Ronald sat with Seamus, Dean, Pavarti, and a few other Gryffindors in their year near the end of the long table and for fear of confrontation, Hermione decided that sitting with them was probably the last thing she wanted to do. A little further down the table, Harry sat sullen next to Neville Longbottom. The presence of the sandy blonde boy gave Hermione hope. Maybe Harry’s finally over his delusions, she thought making her way over and seating herself across from them.

“Hullo Hermione!” greeted Neville in a friendly tone. Neville was one of her favorite classmates. Where he was bumbling and lacking in self-confidence, he made up for it in kindness, acceptance, and all-around goodness. It was always surprising to her that he hadn’t been a top pick for Hufflepuff. But then again, his actions their first year gave insight to his true potential.

“Hullo Neville. How are you coming along with the Charms essay?” she asked, setting her bag down next to her.

“Not very good. I’ve got all the ideas but I’m not quite sure how to put them down. I may need some more help…” he admitted bashfully, looking down to his plate.

“That’s alright Neville. That’s a fairly common problem. I’d be more than hap—”

“Why are you sitting here?” Harry cut her off. Hermione, shocked by his outburst, was at a loss for words. “I don’t appreciate you sitting with me just to act spy for Ron,” he spat bitterly, not even looking up from his food.

“Harry, I’m not—”

“Look, I know how you and Ron feel, and I know how everyone else feels. So just stop pretending,” he snarled harshly, looking up at her with cold eyes. Hermione pursed her lips and stood, utterly embarrassed. She tried hard not to look at Neville’s pitying face as she lifted her book bag onto her shoulder and walked to an empty spot at the table. Staring at the wood grain of the tabletop, Hermione wondered if it was even worth trying to eat something. Willing herself not to cry, a movement caught the corner of her eye and voices began to speak to her.

“Not hungry Granger?”

“That’s a shame. The spread looks exceptionally delicious tonight.”

“He’s right. I think it might be the house elves trying to show off for the new guests.”

“We have a bet going as for how long they’ll keep it up.”

“George here thinks it will be over by January.”

“But Fred insists that it will keep up till Durmstrang and Beauxbatons leave.”

“What’s your take on it, Granger?”

Hermione lifted her head and stared at the red-headed twin sitting next to her in utter confusion. She glanced at his face and recognized him as Fred, but couldn’t manage to process the fact that she had to in fact speak. She must have been staring for too long because Fred pressed further.

“You know, because you know all about them?” He looked at her expectantly, but Hermione’s mind remained a foggy mess.

“What?” she asked dumbly.

“You know, because of all the research you’ve done for your organization. What’s it called again? S.P.E.W.?” George added helpfully from across the table.

“You know about the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare?” said Hermione in surprise.

“Of course—” started Fred.

“How could we not? You’ve given us at least twenty buttons so far this year!”

“To pass out to others! You did pass them out, right?” Hermione looked from Fred to George. The pair wore guilty expressions.

“We may have charmed them to, I guess you could say, _spew_ actual vomit and then pinned them to the back of Filch’s robes,” admitted Fred scratching the back of his head.

“Frederick! I gave you those so people could _see_ them!” Hermione reached forward and started to pile her plate high with potatoes, vegetables, and chicken.

“Well technically, a whole bunch of people saw them,” remarked George, starting to fill his plate as well.

“Unfortunately, it was as Filch was slipping and falling into a giant puddle of vomit,” said Fred with a chuckle, looking skyward at the memory.

Hermione pouted into her chicken, cutting into it with her knife.

“Don’t look so sour Granger. It’s probably for the best—” George reached across the table and grabbed a steaming, buttered roll from a basket “—we’ve been down to the kitchens loads of times and not a single one of them gives a toss about house elf rights. In fact, they view the idea of getting paid for their work as insulting.”

“That’s because they don’t know any better!” cried Hermione, throwing down her fork.

“Now Granger, don’t go infantilizing them. If they’re smart enough for you to think they should be equal members of society, then they’re smart enough to decide whether they want to be paid or not for their work,” Fred chided, picking up his napkin and wiping at the corner of his mouth.

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but found, very surprisingly, that she had nothing to say. She’d never considered that before. Curiously, she stared at Fred. He had a very valid point. It still rubbed her the wrong way when she thought about it. To enslave an entire race of individuals and not pay them or give them any choice? They had no real rights, no real say in anything. Some of them were treated so poorly they resorted to punishing themselves. In the muggle world, something like that would have started wars. But things were different in the wizarding world. There were customs she was unfamiliar with and mindsets she couldn’t begin to understand. She continued to muse on the topic as they sat eating silently. Once she had had her fill, Hermione took a sip of pumpkin juice and asked the question that had been on her mind all throughout dinner.

“Why are you two sitting with me and not your friends?”

She felt the heavy weight of Fred’s arm fall over her shoulders and she looked up at him.

“Are we not allowed to partake in the loveliness of your warm and inviting personality Granger?” he teased, calling out the brashness of her behavior thus far.

“Yeah, maybe we genuinely want to spend time with our favorite little book worm,” added George with a wink.

“Or, maybe you remembered that I promised to tell you how you could have gotten past the age barrier on the goblet and now you’re looking for me to pay up,” Hermione pointed out rolling her eyes.

“Drats Freddie! She’s figured us out.”

“Told you she would Georgie. She’s too bright to let our trickery get past her.”

“Brightest witch of our age I hear.”

“Really? Of our age? Imagine that.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at their banter. It wasn’t every day her intelligence was praised as opposed to ridiculed. “Are you two quite done or do you not wish to hear my secrets?”

“Alright Granger let’s hear it then. Where did we go wrong?” Fred asked taking his arm off her shoulder and turning on the bench to face her. Hermione glanced between the two expectant faces and then began.

“Well there are three ways in which you could have gotten your names into the goblet. The first two have to do with maturity—”

“Maturity? I happen to be quite mature, thank you!” George stated in mock hurt.

“Right…and the third has to do with common sense.”

“She’s got us there Georgie. That _is_ something we tend to lack,” Fred added sarcastically.

“To be fair, you two had the right idea when you made the aging potion. However, it’s not enough for you to appear a few months older. It’s your soul as well as your body that must age,” Hermione continued. She appeared to now have the twins’ full attentions.

“How would we do that then?” Fred ask earnestly.

“The first way of course would have been to wait until you turned seventeen, somehow come into possession of a time-turner, sent yourself into the past and then put your names in the goblet. However, it’s extremely ill-advised and dangerous to meddle with time and so it’s probably best that you didn’t do that. Not to mention, time-turners are highly regulated and incredibly hard to get your hands on. The second way would have been with a maturing draught. The first difficulty with that is the rarity and price of the ingredients. The second is that the potion becomes more complicated and takes longer to make as the amount you want to mature increases and for you two, I imagine it would have taken a very long time for you to brew.” She ended her last comment with a smirk, chest swelling with pride as the twins’ mouths hung open.

“Did you just hear that Freddie? I think our little Granger just made a joke.”

“And at our expense it seems.”

Hermione let out a small laugh before continuing, “Of course that is all conjecture.”

“Wait. So, it’s all just theory then! You have no idea if that would even work?” George exclaimed.

“Brightest witch of our age indeed…” Fred added, earning a playful slap from the witch sitting next to him.

“Well it’s not as if Dumbledore took me aside and told me exactly how to get past the age line. But I think those are as good as any theory you’re likely to hear!” she defended herself.

“What was the third way? You said there was a third way. Hopefully, this one is better than _conjecture_.” George rolled his eyes.

“Well isn’t it obvious?” Hermione asked, looking between the two.

“ _Obviously_ not,” said Fred.

“You could have just bribed an older student to put your names in for you,” Hermione stated plainly. There was a moment of silence amongst the group, and then all three burst into laughter. Their cries turned heads from all around the Great Hall, but none of them seemed to notice or care.

“There was no way that George or I were going to spend our heard-earned sickles on some seventh-year prat for a chance at eternal fame and glory!” Fred stated when he finally found his breath.

“Yeah, not when we can get that all on our own!” agreed George.

“Goblet be damned!” Fred exclaimed loudly, standing up to make his point. Hermione quickly grabbed him by his robes and pulled him back down, embarrassed by his outburst but still laughing all the same.

“To be fair, we did try and bribe Jordan with some very enticing Honeydukes chocolate, but he wouldn’t go for it! Can you believe that? Some friend he is…” George shook his head in disappointment.

“Gee, I can’t imagine why a few chocolate frogs didn’t convince him to aid in your rule breaking,” Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed.

“What’s wrong with chocolate frogs?!” the twins asked together.

* * *

“I think we should head back to the tower,” said Hermione, looking around her with a surprised expression.

Fred stopped and did the same only to realize that the Great Hall was nearly empty. It seems while they were busy talking and laughing, the rest of the school had left to go about their nights. Fred found that once he and George got the little witch to open up, it was like a faucet with a broken tap. The bushy-haired girl gushed with charisma, humor, and wit. In fact, she spoke as if no one ever asked her about her interests before. He thought that was quite possibly true as all the times he observed the “Golden Trio” in the past, it was usually Ron and Harry talking about quidditch and then rolling their eyes whenever Hermione spoke about anything. Could it be that none of her friends showed any interest in _her_? Fred couldn’t help but notice the bit of fire hiding behind her eyes when she spoke about magical creature equality, books she had read recently, or subjects she just learned in class. It was the same fire he saw in her more and more these days; he saw it back at the burrow when they talked in the kitchen, in the hallways when he walked her back to the common room, in the woods when they…Fred shook his head of the memory. Nevertheless, there was something about that fire, that strength she showed that absolutely intrigued him.

Standing from their place at the table, they made their way toward Gryffindor tower, continuing their conversation.

“You’re telling me there’s _no_ market for love potions?” George asked incredulously.

“I’m not saying there isn’t _some_ market for it. I’m merely saying they’re silly, and highly dangerous when you think about it. I can’t believe they’re not banned!” cried Hermione, tucking a curl behind her ear. Fred, too engrossed with the movement of her hand, neglected to chime in on the argument.

“Come on Hermione, they’re not as bad as you’re making them out to be.” George rolled his eyes.

“Really?—” Hermione spun on the spot, walking backwards as she spoke “—Okay, for the pure purpose of debate let’s say I was to concoct a love potion and give it to Fred.”

That sentence caught Fred’s attention quite well.

“Go on,” spoke Fred and George.

“And let’s say that as a result he fell madly in love with me. You wouldn’t see anything wrong with that?”

Fred snorted. “Aside from being in love with a little swot?”

Hermione shot him a dirty look.

“The potion would wear off eventually,” challenged George, clearly still operating within the confines of their argument.

“Not if I kept giving it to him—oof!” Hermione’s sentence was cut short by running into a solid stone bannister at the end of the corridor. Dropping her book bag with a loud thump, her eyes grew large as she started to fall backwards. Using his quidditch reflexes, Fred reached out and grabbed the witch by the forearm before she could topple over the bannister and down the many floors. Once Hermione was set right on her feet, Fred grabbed her book bag from the ground and flung it over his shoulder. Despite the strength he had from many years of quidditch, Fred still gave a little groan at the sheer weight of it.

“Merlin, Hermione. What do you have in here? The entire library?”

“Just the necessities! If you’re going to complain, I can just carry it myself.” Hermione reached for her bag, but Fred swiftly avoided her.

“Now, now. I wasn’t complaining! I’m just surprised _you_ can lift it,” remarked Fred, as they began to walk towards the tower once more.

“What? Because I’m a girl I can’t carry a heavy bag?”

“I think he’s more referring to the fact that you look like you weigh barely eight stone dripping wet and your arms are about a thick as a Bowtruckle’s,” laughed George, pinching Hermione’s arm through her thick sweater.

“I’ll have you know I’m not as feeble as you make me out to be,” sniffed Hermione.

“You hear that Freddie? She’s not as feeble as we make her out to be.”

Fred knew the tone in George’s words all too well. Briefly sharing a wicked grin, the two swooped down and lifted Hermione into the air. She put up a good fight, Fred had to admit that, but in the end, she relented, George’s arms linked under her armpits and Fred’s hands grasped firmly around her ankles. The twins laughed obnoxiously as they rounded the last corner up the stairs and came to the portrait entrance to Gryffindor tower.

“Okay, you can put me down now. You’ve had your laugh!”

“What do you think Freddie? Have we had our fill?” George asked, beaming at his twin.

Fred pursed his lips, pretending to think on the subject for a moment before he shook his head from side to side. “Nah, I don’t think we have. _Balderdash_!” he yelled the password to the Fat Lady with excess enthusiasm, gripping Hermione tighter when she began to thrash, realizing they were carrying her into the common room.

“Make way, fresh catch of the day!” yelled George over the crowd of Gryffindor students.

“Fred! George! Put me down!”

The two ignored her, grinning from ear to ear as they parted through their interested peers, obviously surprised to see such a sight. It wasn’t uncommon for Fred and George to make a ruckus in the common room, but to make one that included Hermione Granger? Absolutely unheard of.

“Oi!” barked Lee Jordan from a nearby table. “What have you two got there?”

“Oh, this here?” asked Fred casually. “Well while we were out, George and I thought we’d do a bit of bird hunting.”

The comment earned him a few laughs, filling Fred with pride.

“And believe me, she wasn’t the easiest of prey. Isn’t that right Fred?” George asked his brother.

“I wouldn’t say that George. I’d say she nearly leapt into our arms. She did threaten to slip me a love potion.”

That comment earned him a swift kick from Hermione’s right foot. Not paying attention, the kick landed squarely in his gut and Fred dropped her legs as he wrapped his arms ‘round his middle. Now able to use the leverage of her feet, Hermione pulled out of George’s grasp and grabbed her book bag from Fred’s shoulder. She took a moment to stare down at Fred, as he stood doubled over in pain. Her brown eyes narrowed down at him, her hair falling around her face.

“If I had a love potion, you’d be the last person I’d waste it on, Frederick Weasley,” Hermione stated plainly, before patting him lightly on the head and walking towards the girls’ dormitories.

A smattering of ‘oohs’ came from the crowd around them, and Fred had to fight very hard not to go red as he straightened out and watched Hermione Granger exited the common room. Despite having embarrassed him, he couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face as he watched the curly headed girl walk up the stairs with a bounce in her step. He couldn’t wait to see how she would surprise him next.


	8. Carry On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions made and forgiveness gave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)!
> 
> Please, please, please feel free to leave kudos and comments. I love hearing people's thoughts and opinions on the story!
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_And after all's been said and done_   
_Who said it best, were you the one?_   
_Let's just forget, leave it behind_   
_And carry on_

* * *

It was nearly two weeks till the first challenge and approximately a week and a half since Harry humiliated Hermione in the Great Hall. Hermione felt an overwhelming sickness as the first challenge grew nearer. She told herself not to worry, but she couldn’t help it. Worrying about Harry Potter’s well-being was second nature to her. Ronald, on the other hand, was the least of her priorities. In fact, she did her best to avoid the ginger boy as best she could, possessing no real desire to talk to him. Not until he sorted out his attitude. But still he was constantly trying to talk to her – trying to get her to send Harry messages for him or just plain berating her for ignoring him. Luckily, avoidance was easy as she found herself buried with work and didn’t see any hope of free time until the coming Sunday. Her work, it seemed, had increased even more as the teachers prepared them for their O.W.L.s the coming year. That, added with her increased research into magical creature rights and all the previous Triwizard Tournament challenges, made Hermione an incredibly busy young woman.

Hermione made her way through the aisles of the library only to see, much to her annoyance, Viktor Krum seated at her table. Again. It seemed he was making a habit of always being in her way, and while she had been polite about it initially, Hermione had reached her limit. Marching up to the table, she waited for him to notice her presence. However, the large and looming boy never so much as looked up from his book. After a few more moments, Hermione finally cleared her throat. Much to her relief, the sound caught his ear and Krum turned his head, looking up at her with a questioning and unwavering gaze. Reaching deep within herself, Hermione mustered up all her courage and finally spoke.

“You’re um…you’re in my seat.” Internally she cheered with relief that her voice sounded clear and confident. Krum narrowed his eyes and looked around at the table.

“I see no name,” he replied simply.

“Yes, but you see I’ve been here for four years. I’ve always sat here. No one else sits here,” Hermione explained.

“I am sitting here,” Krum stated challengingly. He really has a way with words, Hermione thought to herself hotly.

“I can see that, and you’ve _been_ sitting here for the past week. It’s been quite the disturbance to my study routine. There are many desks in the library in which you can stake your claim and make _your_ seat but as it has been established, this is my seat and I would very much like it back.” Hermione knew as the words left her mouth that she must sound like an insufferable berk, but as it were, she had been under a fair amount of stress lately and she longed for something familiar. Krum stared at her for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, before standing.

“I like you. You are strong. You stand up for what you want.” With that the Bulgarian boy picked up his book and stepped aside with a slight bow.

“Your seat,” he stated formally before straightening and disappearing into the rows of books.

“Thank you,” said Hermione completely in shock that her plan had worked.

Letting out a great sigh of relief, she sat down and opened her Charms book. She had only made it two chapters when Frederick Weasley sat down in the seat next to her. She should have known he would find her eventually. Not a day went by that Fred or George, or Fred _and_ George found her somewhere. Whether it was the Great Hall, the common room, the grounds, Hagrid’s hut, or in this case, the library, she always seemed to run into them whether she intended it or not. While the pair were much more engaging that she had previously thought, and while she did enjoy their company, she very quickly realized it was nearly impossible to get any work done with them around. Determined not to break her current study flow, Hermione ignored his presence and hoped he would take out a book and perhaps study himself for once instead of distracting her. For the first few minutes and much to her surprise, it appeared he would do just that. But then the pen tapping began, followed by the popping of his lips, and when neither of those pulled her attention he simply stared at her intensely. The feeling of his gaze locked onto the side of her face was too much to bear.

“What do you want Frederick?” she asked tiredly.

“I didn’t see you at any of the meals today.”

“I’ve been busy. Similar to how I’m busy right now. So, unless you would like to sit and silently work with me, I’m afraid you’ll have to go somewhere else for entertainment today. I have too much work to do.”

“Fine. I’ll work,” said Fred plainly, taking out a notebook riddled with scribbles and drawings. If those were his class notes it was no wonder he and George hadn’t gotten many O.W.L.s, thought Hermione. They were worse than Ron and Harry’s!

Hermione shook her head and returned to her textbook, feeling relieved but a tad skeptical. Never would she imagine Frederick Weasley rolling over in defeat so easily. It was almost disappointing. She found she rather liked Fred and George’s challenging nature. They provided a surprisingly intellectually stimulating conversation. It was refreshing to talk about something other than quidditch, classes, and impending doom. Going back to her chapter on the theory of simple summoning charms, Hermione jotted down notes at the more mentionable and important things to remember. Just as she finished a section on counteractive Fred began mumbling to himself. Hermione glanced up through her lashes at the boy in curiosity and watched as he scribbled something down into his notebook, paused, read over it chewing thumb, mumbled to himself, and then scratched it out. Obviously, the notebook couldn’t be for a class. A diary perhaps? But then, why would he be crossing things out? she pondered. He repeated the cycle – write, pause, chew, mumble, scratch – at least five times before Hermione’s patience ran thin.

“What _are_ you working on?”

“Do you mind, Granger? I’m trying to work. And I have much too much work to do to chit chat with you today. Please find your entertainment elsewhere, thank you,” Fred responded indignantly, lifting his nose into the air. Hermione knew when she was being mocked. Most of the time it set a fire under her seat, but in that moment the most she could muster was a good-natured shake of her head. So, she put her nose back into her book and continued to work. She didn’t make it very far before Fred was mumbling and writing and mumbling and scratching furiously once again.

“Okay, you have to tell me what you’re working on that has you so frustrated. It’s driving me absolutely mad.” Hermione shut her book and stood, rounding the corner of the table towards Fred. Fred closed his notebook and held it behind his back before she could come within a foot of him.

“I don’t _have_ to do anything,” said Fred wiggling his eyebrows playfully at her. Taking it as a challenge, Hermione lunged for the notebook, missing it by an inch as Fred swiped it out of her reach and stood, raising it high above his head.

“Frederick Weasley that is entirely unfair,” Hermione whispered, annoyance laced in her voice as she jumped for the notebook, barely reaching his elbow.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re short.” Fred let out a fake yawn as Hermione continued to try and reach the notebook.

“I am not short! You are simply too tall!” Hermione exclaimed, reaching her breaking point.

“Miss Granger, shouting in the library is prohibited. Five points from Gryffindor and you two can see yourselves out for the day,” whispered Madame Pince harshly from behind her desk.

Hermione stood horrified, staring at Madame Pince. A gentle puff of warm breath fell on her ear as Fred leaned down and whispered, “Did you see the amount of spit that flew out of her mouth when she said ‘points’? Absolutely ghastly.”

Hermione fought to hold in her giggles at Fred’s comment. She barely had enough time to gather her things and leave the library, tall red head in tow, before the two of them doubled over in laughter.

“I can’t believe you got me kicked out of the library!” Hermione scolded once she caught her breath.

“I think you did that all on your own Granger. I was just sitting there minding my own business and you attacked me!”

“Attacked you? You know very well what you were doing Frederick.” She stuck her tongue out at him as they walked down the hall, not at all embarrassed for being childish.

“Careful what you do with that tongue Granger.” Fred winked and Hermione immediately tucked her tongue back into her mouth. Her face heated in a furious blush.

“Well now I have no place to get my work done,” she said, changing the subject quickly. “I guess I can try and make do with the common room…” Hermione pondered the possibility of trying to find a quiet corner where she wouldn’t be bothered by Ron when Fred grabbed her arm and started pulling her down a side corridor.

“Where—?”

“You’ll see,” Fred cut her off. With dizzying twists and turns, Fred pulled her along until finally they were in a part of the castle Hermione did not recognize. They continued further, down corridors and around corners, until they were inside an abandoned classroom. It was relatively small, looking to only have space for no more than fifteen people squished together. On one side, sat a good-sized table and a few comfortable looking armchairs. On the other side of the room was a workbench with a single cauldron and a hodgepodge of potions ingredients and empty vials.

“Ta-da! Do you like it?” Fred asked looking around proudly.

Hermione observed the cobwebs in the corners and layers of dust covering most of the furniture and frowned. “It could use a bit of cleaning up, don’t you think?”

Fred blushed, his ears turning a light shade of pink, and walked over to the workbench. “Well, you know. George and I aren’t much for housekeeping I guess,” said Fred sheepishly as he began to discretely move items around into a neat array. Hermione felt a twinge of guilt over her comment. It had been rude.

“ _Scourgify_.” She flicked her wand, and slowly the dust and cobwebs began to vanish from sight as if an invisible maid had swept through in a fury. She looked back at Fred and smiled, hoping that her faux pas was forgiven. He smiled back.

“So why are we here?” Hermione asked.

“Well, you said you needed a place to work. George and I use this place to work on our inventions. It’s pretty quiet and no one really comes here, at least not for a very long time.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. The castle is sure to have a number of old unused classrooms. I read that when Hogwarts was originally built, it was made to house twice as many students as it does now,” she commented, placing her heavy bag into an armchair.

Fred hummed in acknowledgement as he placed his notebook down onto the workbench and opened it to a specific page. Hermione walked over to his side hoping to finally get a glance at the pages, but Fred was too quick, closing it before her eyes could decode the lines and scribbles.

“Oh, come on Granger. You have to be better than that.”

“I don’t understand why you won’t just show me!” Hermione huffed and crossed her arms.

Fred mirrored her, crossing his arms as well and responding in a haughty voice, “Because you want to see it.”

“But you owe me! You got me kicked out of the library!”

“Yes, and then I brought you here, Miss Ungrateful—” he leaned forward, looking down at her with an air of amusement “—If you want to see it so badly, then you’ll have to take it from me.”

Hermione scoffed. She knew Fred was just playing a power game. He _wanted_ her to take the notebook. He probably didn’t even have anything written in it. He just wanted _her_ to want it. Then he won. She must have stood there too long, glaring at him while her mind raced over what game he might be playing because he spoke again.

“Come on Granger, too afraid to take me on? Where’s your Gryffindor courage?”

Hermione bristled at the words. Suddenly her heart began to race, and she was no longer in the abandoned classroom, but instead a forest running for her life. Running to protect those around her.

“Granger? Hermione? ‘Mione?” Fred’s voice and a gentle hand on her shoulder, shook her back to the present. She looked up to see Fred staring at her with concern in his eyes. Hermione brushed his hand away and turned on her heel. A wetness ran down her cheeks and she realized, to her mortification, that she was crying. She needed to leave.

“You know what Frederick? I don’t have time for whatever little game you’re trying to play. You were the one that came into the library and you were the one that got us kicked out. I told you I was busy, but did you listen? No—” she was rambling now, she knew it “—instead, you dragged me all the way down here and wasted my time.”

She swung her book bag over her shoulder and stormed towards the door. If she were not mistaken, Fred’s voice called after her, but truthfully, she did not care. Her feet carried her towards the Gryffindor tower.

The next day Hermione still pondered over what happened in the abandoned classroom with Fred. Why had she reacted that way? It was true Fred used the same phrase she said to him that night in the forest but that wasn’t his fault. He certainly wasn’t using it to spite her. Besides, she was getting over it. She hadn’t had a nightmare in nearly two weeks. So why did it affect her so badly? No matter what the answer was, she knew she owed Fred an apology. It was going to be hard; She was still thoroughly embarrassed by her behavior and she would be lucky if Fred even forgave her. Still, she had to try.

She walked out of her double potions class and headed towards the Great Hall to look for Fred. Her stomach grumbled loudly, and she tried to occupy her mind with thoughts of dinner and pudding to quell her nerves. Turning the corner, Hermione noticed a commotion in the hall up ahead. She heard familiar voices and pushed her way to the front of the crowd to find Harry and Draco Malfoy toe to toe, wands raised. Hermione groaned. The last thing Harry needed right now was detention for dueling in the hallways. She watched an evil glint appear in Malfoy’s eyes and had a sinking realization. Without thinking, Hermione dropped her bag and leapt forward, pushing Harry aside as two voices rang out.

“ _Densaugeo!_ ”

“ _Furnunculus!_ ”

Hermione hit the ground hard. The cold stone floors scraped her hands as she blinked rapidly. A tangle of robes and curls, she sat up, amazed she was not stunned or incapacitated. In fact, she was completely fine. Her stomach dropped in despair – she hadn’t been quick enough. Malfoy’s spell hit Harry. However, her assumption was made all too soon as a tingling sensation began to fill her mouth. Working her jaw back and forth, she tried to make sense of what was happening. It wasn’t until she ran her tongue across her front teeth that she realized something was unusual about them. Her two front teeth seemed to be…bigger? Perhaps they had always been that size, she hoped desperately. Her hope was short lived. The tingling sensation appeared again and this time her front teeth noticeably increased in size, pushing down on her tongue as they elongated. Hermione gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. The crowd around them murmured. She looked to Harry sitting next to her on the ground and he stared back at her in horror. A groan from nearby, pulled her attention to Goyle, sitting next to Malfoy, covered in large pus-filled boils. She felt the tingling again and this time, her teeth pushed past her bottom lip, making it impossible to close her mouth. Panic began to set in.

“What…is the meaning of this…?” The droning voice of Professor Snape cut through the crowd and Hermione thought she’d never been happier to hear the dull tone. She scrambled to her feet and ran to him, unable to speak but frantically pointing to her obviously growing teeth.

“What seems to be the…problem, Miss Granger?” he asked her with a bored expression. Hermione looked around the hall in a panic.

From somewhere in the crowd, the voice of Seamus Finnigan piped up, “Can’t you see? Her teeth are huge!”

Professor Snaped sneered down at her, his gaze scrutinizing and unforgiving. “I see no difference from their…usual appearance.”

His cruel words stung her deeply. She felt tears well in her eyes and fled the corridor, making her way to the hospital wing. Hermione had never been more embarrassed in her life.

Madame Pomfrey was undeniably kind when Hermione burst into the hospital wing, her teeth well past her waist at that point. The fix was surprisingly easy – just a quick counter-jinx and shrinking spell. Professor Snape could have done it easily if he didn’t find so much joy in her suffering. Madame Pomfrey had given her a hand mirror to hold as she carefully shrunk her front teeth back to normal size. In a moment of impulse and weakness, fueled by the lingering sting of Professor Snape’s words, Hermione allowed Madame Pomfrey to shrink her teeth past their normal size. Checking her smile in the hand mirror, she was struck by just how much of a difference the slight change in size made to her overall appearance. She’d like to see Professor Snape make fun of her teeth now.

“You’ve had a grueling day dear. Would you like to stay here for a while? I can have dinner brought up and you can head back to your dormitory once you’re finished,” Madame Pomfrey suggested, standing up and tucking her wand back into her robes. Hermione nodded and smiled with a sniff. She leaned back in the bed and went to reach for her bag when she realized she forgot it. Great, what was she supposed to do with her time now? A throat cleared from the entryway and Hermione sat up straight, looking to her left. It was Harry, holding her bag and looking like he regretted showing up at all. Cautiously he approached the bed and set her bag down on the floor next to it.

“I thought I’d bring you your bag,” Harry said lamely.

“Thank you.” Hermione looked down at her hands. They sat there, the silence deafening and uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry.”

“Harry, you don—”

“No—” Harry interrupted her “—I do. I messed up Hermione. You were just trying to be a good friend and-and I wasn’t being a very good friend back.”

Hermione could tell he was struggling to find the right words. Harry had never been particularly articulate.

“It’s okay Harry. I understand.”

“I was a right git though.”

“You were, yes. But like I said, I understand. I just hope we can put this behind us and be friends again?”

“I’d like that.”

Hermione leaned forward and pulled Harry down into a tight hug. After a few moments, they parted, laughing in relief as the tension between them melted away.

“I’m on my way to dinner. Do you want to come?” Harry asked her, standing up. She shook her head.

“Madame Pomfrey is having my dinner sent here. I think I’ll stay for a while and get some work done while I eat. I’ll see you in the common room later.” Hermione reached for her bag, pulling out her Charms book. Harry nodded, saying his goodbyes before exiting the hospital wing. She had only just opened her book when she heard the doors to the hospital wing swing open. Looking to the doors, she saw Frederick Weasley holding a tray of food.

* * *

Fred made his way down to the kitchens hoping to get a pre-dinner snack. He figured if his attempted apology to Hermione didn’t go well at dinner, he’d at least have something in his stomach when he was forced to leave the Great Hall to avoid being hexed. As he walked, he thought back to the situation that got him into this mess in the first place. It all started one night after a particularly heated debate over counter curses with Hermione at dinner. George had pulled Fred aside on their way to Gryffindor tower.

_“Merlin Freddie! Why didn’t you tell me?”_

_“That Granger was really as smart as they say? I thought that was pretty obvious mate.”_

_“Yeah. Now I finally understand your recent obsession with her.”_

_“For the last time, I’m not obsessed with Granger.”_

_“Whatever mate. Anyway, I knew she was smart, but I never knew how much of an asset she could be for our business!”_

_“Oh lovely, we’re basing people’s worth on their ability to contribute to our future now?”_

_“Shove off, I’m being serious! She might be able to fill in the blanks with some of the product ideas you’ve been stuck on.”_

_“I haven’t been stuck on them. Your ideas are just too bloody complex,” Fred defended himself._

_“Freddie, no need to get your knickers in a twist. We both know you’re the brains—though I’d never admit that to anyone else. But you have to admit, things would go a bit smoother if we had a little help from the brightest witch of our age…” George goaded his brother._

_“George, it’s brilliant but somehow I doubt she’d be quite keen on the idea of helping us. What makes you think she’d even agree to breaking rules and getting into trouble?” Fred raised an eyebrow, interested in what scheme his brother had concocted this time._

_“I’m not saying we go up to her and say, ‘Oi, Granger, fancy breaking some rules, eh?’. I’m just saying, if she happens to take an intellectual interest in what we’re doing then…all the better.”_

_Fred let the idea marinate in his brain. It was quite brilliant really, but there was one small flaw. “Alright. How do you plan on getting her to volunteer her brainy services?” he asked, looking around to make sure the bushy-haired fourth year wasn’t nearby._

_“Well…that’s where you come in.”_

_“Why do I have to do it? Why can’t you get her to help?”_

_“She likes you better.”_

_“No, she doesn’t.”_

_“Sure.”_

_“She doesn’t! You and she get along better.”_

_“We get along just fine, but she likes you better.”_

_“You’re mental mate.”_

_“Sure. Either way, you’re doing it.”_

_Fred fumed at the inevitable but couldn’t stay angry for long. Not when George’s words kept repeating in his head. Did Hermione truly like him better? Sure, he’d shared a few more moments with her that year than George, but that didn’t mean she liked him better. If anything, they argued more than she and George did. She always had something to say and he could never keep his opinion to himself either. Perhaps they were more similar than he thought. Maybe with the right influence—his and George’s influence – they could mold her into their own, personal mad genius._

_“Fine. I’ll do it, but don’t blame me if she doesn’t agree,” said Fred before turning and heading towards Gryffindor tower._

_“Oh brother, you really do underestimate your skills.”_

_“I don’t underestimate my skills Georgie. I underestimate your harebrained ideas.”_

Fred put off the attempt to trick Hermione into volunteering her services for a few days. It wasn’t until George threatened to slip Ton-Tongue Toffee into his morning pumpkin juice if he didn’t get a move on, that he started planning how he’d do it. The plan seemed solid, except for Fred’s one small flaw. He never knew when to stop. He just had to give her one more push. Now he just hoped she’d forgive him.

He entered the kitchens, greeting the elves that bowed at his presence. He reached for a meat pie when he noticed Marby, a house elf he was familiar with, placing some stew on a tray.

“Hullo Marby,” he greeted the house elf.

“Hullo Master Weasley!” Marby responded enthusiastically, placing a treacle tart and a cup of pumpkin juice down on the tray.

“Who’s that for?” Fred asked curiously, biting into the meat pie.

“It’s for a Miss Granger, Master Weasley. Madame Pomfrey told Marby specifically to brings it to her!” Marby stated proudly.

Fred choked on his pie. “Madame Pomfrey? Hermione’s in the hospital wing?”

Marby nodded.

“Do you know what for?” He placed his pie down on the nearest counter.

“Marby does not know Master Weasley. Marby only knows to brings the food.”

Fred chewed his thumb. “She likes pumpkin pasties better.”

Marby nodded again and switched the treacle tart for a nearby pasty. She took hold of the tray and made to apparate, but before she could Fred spoke again, “Marby, do you mind if I go with you?”

“Not at all Master Weasley!” She took hold of Fred’s pant leg and suddenly Fred was being pulled by his navel in a sickening spin. They landed with a snap outside the hospital wing and Fred had to take a few deep breaths to keep from puking up the meat pie in his stomach. So that’s apparating, he thought in wonder. While nauseating at first, the rush from it was enough to excite him for his apparition lessons the coming semester. Marby took a step towards the door to go in, but Fred stopped her.

“It’s okay Marby, I’ve got it. I’ll let Hermione know that you made it especially for her.” He took the tray from the small house elf.

“Thank you Master Weasley!” she squeaked before disappearing with a loud crack.

With a deep breath, Fred pushed the heavy doors open and saw Hermione lying on a nearby bed. Unsurprisingly, there was a book in her hands. When the doors shut behind him, the witch turned her head and looked at him in surprise.

“I was in the kitchens when one of the house elves mentioned you were in the hospital. I volunteered to bring you your food. You know, to make sure you weren’t dead or something,” Fred explained with a stiff laugh, walking towards her, and setting the tray on the side table next to her. He scanned her for a moment from head to toe. “Looks like you’ll live.”

His palms felt sweaty and his stomach felt nauseous as he looked over her, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“I’m fine, now. Rogue hex in the hallway.”

Fred winced. “What was it? Bat bogey? Jelly legs?”

“No. Nothing quite that bad, but Madame Pomfrey said I could stay here for a while if I wanted,” Hermione replied. She kept her gaze down, not looking at him. Great, she’s still mad, thought Fred. He sat there uncomfortable, trying to figure out where to start his apology when Hermione surprised him.

“I’m sorry,” she stated, closing her book, and putting it beside her. Fred eyed her, he was sure, with a stupid look on his face.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so upset with you, it’s just that—” Hermione hesitated “—I think I was more upset by what you said than what you did.” She let out a breath, making Fred realize that what she just admitted must have been hard for her to do. Unfortunately, he had no bloody clue what she was talking about.

“What I said?”

“Gryffindor courage?” She said it in such a way, Fred felt as though he should understand the meaning behind her words, but still he felt at a loss. Hermione sighed when he did not reply and placed her hands at her temple in frustration. “You know, the exact thing I said to you that night at the world cup?—” she inhaled deeply “—it’s just…I’ve been having these nightmares you see. Ever since the cup I’ve barely been able to sleep and I guess something about that phrase shook me.”

At her confession, Fred felt a pit open in the bottom of his stomach that he wished would swallow him whole. In truth, he _had_ used the phrase with the world cup in mind. He thought it would get a rise out of her as it did him that night, but he had no idea she’d been dealing with the aftermath of that night still. He felt like a complete and utter arse. Ho was he supposed to fix this?

“Hermione…that night, in the forest, was the most scared I’ve ever been. But what you did was the most courageous thing I’ve ever seen too. Do you think I could have done what you did on my own? Absolutely not!” he exclaimed. She looked at him now, calmer but still wavering. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, there’s nothing for you to be afraid of. You’re more badass than I could ever be. I was just as scared as you were that night, but you were all action. All I can do is…make stupid jokes afterwards and try to forget it all.” The words spilled past his lips, revealing more than he truly liked, but still they were true. He often turned things into jokes that would otherwise be troubling – to take the power it held away from it. He chewed the side of his thumb, thinking about how he probably should have been the one to voluntarily head into danger that night.

“Jokes aren’t all bad. Arguably better than my unhealthier coping mechanisms,” Hermione spoke up, a wry grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Like studying for terms that haven’t even started yet?” Fred suggested, suddenly flushed with the memory of Hermione’s constant studying since the world cup.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Hermione asked, her voice quiet now, barely above a whisper.

“I love secrets,” Fred whispered back, leaning in, and raising his eyebrows conspiratorially.

“Ever since I started spending more time with you and George, the nightmares have gotten better. In fact, I don’t have them at all if you two are the last people I talk to before bed.”

Her confession stunned Fred more than any of her others. “Why do you suppose that is?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t really know. Maybe it’s all the light-hearted joking that gets my mind off it.”

The two shared a small smile before Fred swallowed thickly and reached into the pocket of his robes. “Right, well a secret for a secret I suppose—” from the confines of his pocket he pulled the notebook that started this whole mess “—my apology for being an insensitive git.” He placed the notebook on her lap and leaned back, realizing he had become quite close to the girl during their conversation. He practically hovered over her. Hermione took the notebook in her small hands, eyeing him through her lashes before opening it. Fred watched as she scanned the pages, her eyebrows scrunched together and her eyes moving back and forth over the words.

“I’ve never seen these potions or spellwork before,” she said, looking at him suspiciously.

“That’s because George and I sort of invented them.” Fred scratched the back of his head in embarrassment.

“You came up with these?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“Some of them, yeah. George has a better affinity for Charms work, while I do most of the potions. We both come up with the inventions, but George’s ideas tend to be a bit more extravagant. The more difficult an idea, the more work _I_ usually end up doing. But I don’t mind. It’s like—”

“Solving a puzzle?” Hermione looked at him curiously.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Do they work?” Hermione asked, turning another page to what Fred could see as the ingredients and spell work for Ton-Tongue Toffee.

“Some of them do, like that one. Some of them not yet. We’re still stuck in research and development for most of our products.”

“I could help.”

“What?” Fred asked, caught off guard by her sudden proclamation of interest.

“I mean, only if you want.” Hermione’s cheeks went a slight pink hue under her freckles.

“Are you kidding?—” Fred smiled “—That’d be bloody amazing!”

“Well then, I look forward to working with you.” Hermione sat up straight, handing him his notebook, and taking on a business-like tone. She thrust her right hand out towards him, and Fred gripped it firmly in his, shaking it with exaggerated vigor.

“Welcome to Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, Miss Granger.”


	9. Just A Little Bit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Hermione and Harry's friendship mended, and her bond with the twins, strengthening, Hermione finds herself looking up. The only thing left to do is fix Ron's attitude and keep herself from throttling Rita Skeeter the next time she sees her. 
> 
> Fred and George have found relief in both Hermione's help and her friendship. Unfortunately, as a result they've been neglecting their other friends and someone isn't too shy to point it out to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)!
> 
> Please, please, please feel free to leave kudos and comments. I love hearing people's thoughts and opinions on the story!
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_Oh, no  
I'm not the one, oh, you can ignore  
I'm not like those you had before  
Oh, hell no_

* * *

“It’s just absolutely ridiculous, right?”

“Are you still on about that?” George asked, his tone laced with practiced boredom as he laid on his back in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room. He had somehow come into possession of a quaffle and was repeatedly tossing it in the air and catching it, occasionally passing it to Fred when the mood struck.

“Yes, I am still on about it! How anyone could read this garbage and believe it, I will never know.” Hermione threw the quill she’d been writing with onto the desk, ink blotting across her parchment, and picked up the Daily Prophet once again. An avid reader of the wizarding newspaper, Hermione never gave much thought as to whether the stories of journalist Rita Skeeter were true or not. However, as she stared at the words printed across the page for the hundredth time, she questioned whether the woman had ever written anything factual in her life. Harry had told her about the disastrous interview the night before – Rita Skeeter’s devious smile, the basic lack of attention, her casual yet inappropriate flirtations, and her Quick Note’s Quill scribbling away all the while. Therefore, it hadn’t surprised her when the article portrayed a weepy yet confidently disillusioned Harry Potter pouring his soul out and then boasting on his magical prowess. What _did_ surprise her, though, were the last few sentences.

 ** _“…Harry Potter’s close friend, Collin Creevey, has informed us that the young Triwizard participant can regularly be found in the company of a Miss Hermione Granger – a pretty muggle born fourth year. While officially their relationship has not been confirmed, it’s hard to deny the tell-tale signs of young love,”_** Hermione read, her voice raising to a shout by the end. Folding the paper, she threw it aside once more, this time as far out of her reach as humanly possible. Whirling through the air, the heavy paper made contact with an unsuspecting first year walking by. Hermione winced and gave the boy an embarrassed apology before picking up her wand and cleaning the ink from her assignment. She looked at the contents of her notes thus far and huffed. The words blurred together, her anger resulting in an altogether apathetic state for anything that wasn’t the infuriating article. Turning her head, she glared at Collin Creevey from across the room as he sat in the corner with his brother and a few other younger Gryffindors. They chatted away, playing the perfect role of innocence.

“Hermione—” Harry gave her a pleading look “—could you please just let it go?” He placed a hand gently on her forearm. At that moment, two third year girls walking past, spotted the placement of his hand, and hurried past, whispering and giggling to each other. Harry removed his hand quickly, grimacing. Hermione sighed, taking a moment to think about how this affected not just herself but Harry as well. Whispers and pointing she could deal with but lies were intolerable. It was just so…immoral! However, she imagined all Harry wanted was for all of this to disappear, to forget about it, and to be able to go back to some form of normalcy. She leaned back in her chair. If she could do anything for him at that moment, it would be to do as he asked.

“Alright, I’ll let it go. But don’t think I won’t give this Skeeter woman a piece of my mind when I finally meet her.” She sat forward and began writing out her study guide for transfiguration again.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Harry said in amusement, before turning back to his own work.

Unlike George, Harry and Hermione sat at a table adjacent to the fire accompanied by Fred. Harry was working on an extra paper given to him by Professor Snape after his abysmal duel with Malfoy. Hermione was working on transfiguration, and Fred on his latest product. It was another sweet, similar to their Ton-Tongue Toffee, but ultimately very different. Earlier that night at dinner, Fred and George had ran into the Great Hall flushed with excitement. They pulled her away from the Gryffindor table and into the adjoining corridor, ignoring Hermione’s questions and feeble attempts to pull her wrist from Fred’s grasp. Once out of earshot from their curious peers, they began to bombard her with their latest and greatest idea – Canary Creams. Fred insisted that the idea would be hilarious, a sweet that when eaten, turned the person into a giant canary bird.

Silently, Fred slid his notebook on top of Hermione’s work and pointed to a list of possible wand movements and an incantation to charm the sweets. It really was a tricky thing when you thought about it. Sure, some sweets were already available that caused physical changes to their consumer, but none that she knew performed full form transfiguration. Pairing transfiguration, charms work, and potions was no easy feat. To successfully develop a Canary Cream, they had to produce a lasting charm that utilized transfiguration elements to result in a temporary transformation of the whole body from human to aviary. It was, to put it lightly, difficult.

George had helped early on with the charms aspect of the spell, but now they needed Hermione’s help with the transfiguration part – a subject, lucky for them, she was well versed in. Closely, she surveyed the work and found herself quite impressed. The incantation seemed to be correct and the wand movements as well, except there was just something about them that was…off. Mentally, she visualized the movements and when it finally came to the last movement, she realized the mistake. Dipping her quill into her ink, she crossed off the last tap and replaced it with a flick and then a tap, before sliding the notebook back to him. Fred shook his long ginger hair from his face and assessed the changes she made as Hermione returned to her own work. Looking down at her papers, she tried to find where she left off.

“What’s this for?” Fred whispered. Turning towards him, Hermione was caught off guard to find the boy so close, leaning towards her and pointing at her correction.

Blinking a few times, she answered, “You do want them to be _human_ sized canaries, correct?”

Fred stared at her for a moment, and then back down at the paper before smiling. “Yeah, I suppose we do. I knew there was a reason we asked you to help.”

“If I remember correctly, I volunteered. Should I be regretting that?” Hermione teased.

“Don’t you dare Granger,” responded Fred with a wink. Heat pooled on Hermione’s face and she nervously grinned back, unsure of what to say. Fred spoke again, “Are you sure it will only be temporary?”

“What are you guys working on?” Harry asked. Hermione jumped, pulling back from Fred and the notebook they’d been piled over.

“N-nothing! I’m just helping Fred with his studies. He’s struggling in quite a few of his subjects, so he asked me to tutor him,” she lied. “Isn’t that right Fred?” She turned to him with a sweet smile.

Fred glared back at her, but ultimately cleared his throat and looked to Harry before speaking, “Yeah, I asked Granger to help me. But don’t worry Harry. It’s strictly professional. Wouldn’t want you to think I was trying to steal your girlfriend from you.” He ended his sentence with a cheeky grin. Hermione responded the only way she knew how – by kicking him in the shin under the table.

“Ow!” Fred reached under the table, and rubbing his leg. “Did you just kick me, Granger?” he asked, his long hair falling into his eyes.

“Yes, and you very well deserved it.”

Fred looked to Harry for support but only met his grinning face and a shrug of his shoulders. He then looked to his twin, still lounging on the floor but much more interested in the conversation.

“Don’t look at me, I think you always deserve a good kick in the shin,” said George, chucking the quaffle to his brother. Fred caught it easily.

“Some good friends you are,” Fred grumbled throwing the quaffle back to George before they all let out a few good-humored chuckles.

“I’d say they’re better friends to you than they are to me.” The voice took them by surprise. Looking to the portrait entrance, Hermione saw Ron, having just entered the common room to find the four enjoying themselves without him.

“Do you have a problem, _mate_?” Harry asked, his voice stony.

“I’m not your mate,” Ron responded, a touch on the dramatic side in Hermione’s opinion.

“Well if you’re not my mate then I guess you can just piss off. Yeah?” added Harry lightly, turning back to his work. Hermione looked between the two, feeling incredibly uncomfortable and unsure of what to do. Ron gave her a nasty glare before turning to his brothers.

“You two can’t possibly believe him, can you?”

“Yeah, we do,” Fred and George answered in unison. George sat up properly, tucking the quaffle under his arm.

“He may be the Boy Who Lived—” started George.

“—but he’s not nearly bright enough to put his name into the goblet,” Fred finished.

“Sorry mate!” the two called over to Harry who merely shrugged, finding no offense in the statement.

“What happened to family loyalty?” Ron asked his older brothers, a hurt expression on his face.

“I think there’s a ‘being a complete prat’ contingency to that concept, brother. Besides, Harry’s family too.” George stood and stretched before tossing the quaffle at Ron, who caught it unenthusiastically.

Ron turned to Hermione now. “Guess I know why you always take Harry’s side. Thought you two would at least have the decency to let me in on the secret. But I guess there’s a lot of things you don’t tell me.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but before she could get a word out Ron continued, “Doesn’t matter though, everyone else agrees with me anyways.” With a final glare, he turned and headed towards the boys’ dormitories, ridding himself of the quaffle on the way.

The common room was silent after Ron’s departure. Hermione realized that everyone had stopped to listen in on the dramatic scene. She really wished they hadn’t. One look at Harry and she knew he was wishing the same thing. His shoulders were hitched all the way up to his ears and his face was unnecessarily close to his parchment. The quiet weighed on Hermione like a thick and heavy blanket. She returned to her work, but the more she stared at the pages of her book, the more uncomfortable she became. Every fiber of her being wanted to storm up those stairs and give Ronald a piece of her mind, but she was worried she didn’t have the strength. Then something Fred had said to her in the hospital wing rang clearly in her mind, giving her the strength, she needed: _…there’s nothing for you to be afraid of. You’re more badass than I could ever be._

She rose, pushing back her chair. Harry, Fred, and George looked at her.

“If you’ll please excuse me,” she said politely, turning on her heel and heading towards the stairs that led up to the boys’ dormitories. She had only been in Harry and Ron’s room twice before, but she still knew the way. She climbed the spiral stairs in a fury, having no idea what she was about to say, but knowing she needed to say something. Her period of silence with Ronald Weasley had to end. Coming to the dormitory door, she pushed it open, not even bother to knock as anger and determination fueled her actions.

“Bloody hell Hermione!” Ron exclaimed, covering his bare chest. He was standing in the middle of the room clad only in his pants, trousers and shirt strewn aside in a pile, as he uncomfortably shifted. His face and chest were red as a cherry tomato, flushed in embarrassment, but he glared at her all the same. Hermione coughed, caught off guard by his state of undress. She had never seen Ron without his shirt, let alone his trousers. Trying not to focus on the freckles that spattered his chest, the flush that now covered _her_ face, or the strange tug in the pit of her stomach, she pushed past the awkwardness of the situation and continued on with what she originally intended to do. Looking to her left she noticed Neville was also present in the room, confused and uncomfortable. She smiled sweetly at him.

“Neville, would you please excuse Ronald and I for a few minutes?”

The pudgy blonde boy nodded quickly and jumped from his bed, fleeing the room in a full run.

“Hermione, what are you doing in my room?!” Ron asked in a yell.

Hermione took a deep breath. “I’ve come to make peace. To have a heart-to-heart as they say…” Casually but with purpose she strolled further into the room, past Ron, to sit on the edge of his bed.

“Now? While I’m sodding naked?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, starting to feel normalcy return at Ron’s thickness. “Well put some clothes on if it’s so important to you, but yes, now.”

Ron stared at her, frozen where he stood. When he failed to move, she raised her eyebrows and tilted her head insistently, urging him to hurry up. Ron scurried to his trunk and pulled on a pair of striped bottoms and a vibrant orange Chudley Cannon’s shirt, before plodding over to sit next to her on the bed. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, closing himself off to her and the world around him.

“What?” Ron stubbornly asked, avoiding her gaze.

“I think I deserve an apology from you,” said Hermione bluntly.

Ron looked up at her in surprise. “ _I_ need to apologize to _you_?!”

“Yes. You _do_ —” Hermione stayed strong, squaring her shoulders “—Ronald, we have been friends for nearly four years. More importantly you and Harry have been _best_ friends for just as long. Have we once ever lied to you? Deceived you? Betrayed you? Not supported you?”

Ron didn’t answer. Instead he looked down, resting his forehead against his knees.

“No, we haven’t—" she went on “—Now I don’t know what’s exactly been said or not said between you and Harry, and it’s not really my business. All I know is that when you accuse me of not being a good friend to you, it hurts. I’ve done my best to try to support you _and_ Harry as I see fit. And that support involves believing and trusting you both when you tell me something. So, when Harry tells me he didn’t put his name in the goblet…I believe him. Because he’s my friend and until he does something to make me not trust him, I will continue to trust him. I’m not ‘siding’ with him to spite you and honestly this whole story you’ve concocted, that we’re _conspiring_ against you, makes you sound like an absolute loon.” Hermione finished her speech and tucked her own legs up to her chest, hoping Ronald would respond to what she said with reason. When he didn’t automatically bite her head off or demand she leave his room, she let out a deep breath of relief.

She watched as Ron’s mouth scrunched up in conflict, his long hair covering his eyes and most of his emotion, until finally, he spoke, “I know you two aren’t plotting against me.”

Hermione looked at him in confusion.

“Well I mean, I guess at first I thought you were, but now not really. It’s just not fair. No one likes to be second, especially to Harry Potter. Harry Potter’s stupid friend…”

Hermione’s heart broke. She unwrapped herself and scooted sideways, pulling Ronald into a tight hug. He stiffened at the contact for a moment and then relaxed. They had never been physically close, the way she and Harry were, but Hermione felt this situation called for it.

“You’re not Harry Potter’s stupid friend, Ronald. You may not see it, but you’re worth a lot more than you realize. Are you a bit lazy when it comes to schoolwork? Sure—” they chuckled at her comment “—but you are not stupid.”

She pulled back, looking into Ron’s eyes for the first time in weeks. “You know, I think if he could, Harry would switch places with you in a second. Fame isn’t always a good thing.”

Ron nodded and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. Hermione rested her head on his shoulder and felt the heavy weight of Ron’s head atop hers.

“I’m sorry Hermione,” he mumbled sincerely, slightly begrudgingly, but sincerely, nonetheless. Hermione smiled. Despite his bullheaded nature and obnoxious tendencies, Ron really did have a big heart. She was warmly reminded for a brief moment why, despite all his character flaws, she possessed an affection for him.

“So, how are you going to make things up with Harry?” She perked up, breaking the nice serenity of their resolution with their next challenge. Ron sighed in frustration.

“I don’t know,” Ron said, dropping his arm off her and rubbing his face.

Hermione hopped off the bed. “Well, do it on your own time, I suppose, but try not to take too long. Harry’s going to need the both of us this year.”

Ron stood as well and walked her to the door, nodding in agreement. Hermione pulled the door open and turned, looking over Ron’s kind face. A moment of impulse and Lavender’s nagging words to make a lasting impression took over and before she knew it, she was lifting onto her tip toes and placing a quick peck on Ron’s cheek. She watched as Ron brought a hand up to where her lips had touched, his cheeks turning a shade of pink under his fingertips. Throats cleared from behind her and Hermione turned, finding the twins standing in the stairwell, arms crossed and smirking. They had obviously been snooping.

“Goodnight Ronald,” said Hermione quickly, closing the door in his face and turning towards the twins in annoyance.

“Is _this_ the young love Skeeter was talking about then?” asked George amusedly.

Hermione rolled her eyes, answering in irritation, “Get an earful then?”

“Nah, couldn’t really hear through the door,” George admitted in disappointment.

“Too thick,” added Fred.

“You know, we really should invent something for that,” mused George, looking to his brother.

“I’ll start whipping up the schematics tonight,” bit Hermione sarcastically as she pushed past them and headed down the stairs. She found Harry right where she left him and sat back down in her seat. Neither said anything as she picked up her quill and got back to work. They sat there for quite some time until Harry finally broke the silence. She wasn’t sure how late it was, but the fire was beginning to burn low and they were the only two left in the common room.

“I got a letter from Padfoot last week,” he informed her. Hermione perked up at the news, hoping that something good would come from Harry’s godfather.

“What did he say?” she asked, setting down her quill and rearranging her notes.

“Not much—” Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair “—he wants to talk on the twenty-second. Guess he doesn’t trust sending letters anymore.” 

Sirius Black, also affectionately known as Padfoot, had great reason to be untrusting of the mail as he was currently still on the run from the Ministry of Magic. Accused of a crime he did not commit, it was barely a year ago he used his Animagus form to break out of Azkaban, the wizarding prison. Then through a series of incredibly complicated and confusing events (some of which included time travel), she and Harry helped him make his overall escape on the back of a hippogriff.

“Talk? How are you going to talk?” Hermione asked, placing her things into her book bag. Surely Sirius wasn’t planning on coming onto the school grounds. With ministry officials scurrying around for the tournament, Hogwarts was a risky place to be. The whole country of England wasn’t a safe place for him really.

“I don’t know. He just said to be in the common room at one in the morning,” admitted Harry as he collected his things as well. Hermione frowned.

“Well I just hope he doesn’t plan on putting himself in danger of getting caught or seen,” she said, looking purposefully at her best friend.

“I just hope he has some advice on how to not die this year in the tournament,” said Harry. Hermione bit her lip and something tugged sharply in her chest. She reached across the table and placed a hand atop Harry’s.

“Harry James Potter, you are _not_ going to die. Not if I have anything to say about it,” Hermione proclaimed the fact with so much conviction, she surprised even herself. Harry looked at her though his round glasses, his green eyes scanning her face. For what? Sincerity? Truth? Answers? Hermione did not know, but what she did know was that she wasn’t going to let Harry down. Her breakthrough with Ronald was only the first step. He placed his other hand over hers and gave her a tight smile. Hermione blinked rapidly, fighting the tears that threatened to spill down her face. After a moment they stood and left the common room to their respective dormitories. Not another word was needed.

* * *

Fred sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall eating his lunch. He thought there must have been some greater power looking out for him today because they were serving his favorite – shepherd’s pie. The day had been a rough one so far and the little comfort that came from his favorite food was enough to take the edge off. That morning, after another futile attempt to catch a visiting Ludo Bagman, he and George had gone over their inventory and funds. Needless to say, it was depressing. Turns out they needed the money Ludo owed them more than they thought. They were for all intents and purposes, broke. The advertisement they sent out for had profited quite well, but with their mother’s raid before the start of term, their supply was limited and soon they would no longer be able to supply products to keep up with demand. He and George wagered they could make a larger profit off of new and exciting products, but they really only had a few sickles and knuts for pocket money. The whole situation left them with one option.

“Harry—" Fred spoke, catching the attention of the dark-haired fourth year “—mind being a dear and letting Georgie and me borrow Hedwig?” He watched as Harry swallowed his sip of pumpkin juice and wipe his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“Uh, sure. What for?”

“That my dear boy—” smirked George “—is classified.”

“Really on a need to know basis,” Fred added, sniffing importantly.

“You know, I think I’d rather _not_ know actually. But sure, she’s up in the owlery. Just make sure you bring her a treat, or she’ll be put out for a while and I’ll have to pay the price,” Harry informed them before stuffing a forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. It was at that moment Fred spotted a flushed and chipper Hermione entering the Great Hall. Her hair was especially full and bouncy as she skipped towards them, her cheeks and nose a soft pink hue. Fred imagined she _would_ be in a better mood today after what he could only imagine was a reconciliation between her and Ron last night.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted the lot of them cheerfully, setting her bag down and sitting next to Harry.

“What’s got you all pink? Just come from a hot snogging session?” George asked cheekily. Hermione’s face transitioned from its soft pink to a brilliant red. Lifting her nose up in indignation, she trained a disapproving look on George.

“If you _must_ know, I’ve just come from Hagrid’s—” she loaded the plate in front of her with shepherd’s pie and vegetables “—he had me over for tea, and so naturally I’m starving.”

Harry snorted, shooting pumpkin juice across the table. Fred cried in despair as the last of his lunch became covered in regurgitated liquid.

“Gross mate,” said George, scrunching up his face as he wiped his wet cheek with his robes.

“Sorry,” coughed Harry sheepishly.

“Did you see the new notice on the bulletin board this morning?” asked Hermione. They all shook their heads. She rolled her eyes, obviously annoyed they didn’t keep rigorously up to date with the daily affairs of the school like she did. Fred watched hypnotically as Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear and took a bite of her food. He concentrated on the odd way her nose scrunched ever so slight when she chewed, almost like she was intrigued by the taste alone. Hermione had a very small nose. Not in a disproportionate way, but in a very pleasing way, he decided. Thin across the bridge, it’s up-turned end pointed ever so delicately into the air. It was also spattered with freckles, much like his own but not quite as obvious. From far away you’d never see them, but as you got closer, you’d notice the light patterns of golden brown that adorned the bridge spreading under her eyes.

“Earth to Freddie!” George bellowed in Fred’s ear.

Fred jumped, covering his assaulted ear drum. “What?!”

“I was saying they just put out the announcement that next weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend. I thought maybe we could all go!” Hermione proposed for the second time.

“Or do you prefer to sit and stare at Hermione all day like a twat?” George asked.

Fred frowned at his brother. “I wasn’t staring. I was simply lamenting over the fact that I have to buy Granger a week’s supply of sugar quills.” Luckily, they were a very cheap sweet, thought Fred.

Hermione smiled sweetly, but Fred caught the devilish glint in her eye he was becoming very familiar with.

“I don’t know Hermione—” said Harry “—you might have to go without me.”

“Why?” she asked, her face falling. Fred watched Harry lean in and whisper something to Hermione. She pulled back and nodded, her face a mask of concern and understanding. Leaning back in, it was her turn to whisper something to him – information that he and George were not privy to. Her small hand reached up from under the table and landed on Harry’s upper arm as they pulled back smiling. Obviously, they had come to some kind of agreement that both were happy with. Fred felt an odd sensation wash over him as he watched the two engage in their private conversation. It was the same feeling he got in the hospital wing with Angelina and again when he watched Hermione kiss his little brother on the cheek.

If he didn’t know any better, watching this interaction, he might have believed Rita Skeeter’s accusation that her and Harry were entangled. He shook his head, clearing his mind of the strange route his thoughts had taken. Glancing down the table his little sister, Ginny, was sat next to Neville Longbottom and a few of her friends, laughing and gossiping as they ate. Just past them sat a group of first years looking over a copy of Seeker Weekly, and then further down were Lee, Alicia, Katie, and Angelina. The first three seemed to be engaged in an excited conversation. Lee was lecturing Katie on something with a tired look on his face while Katie shook her head and brought a hand up to her brow. Alicia watched the two, grinning as she stifled a laugh. But the last, Angelina, was looking at him. As their eyes connected, he gave a small friendly smile. However, he was not greeted with a smile in return like he expected. Instead she stood abruptly from the table and headed towards the exit to the Great Hall.

Fred stood too. “I’ll catch you later Georgie. Gotta’ go take care of something.”

He didn’t wait for a response as he raced out of the Great Hall to catch up with Angelina. He found her not too far down the corridor.

“Angelina! Hey, wait up!” called Fred, jogging towards her. Angelina stopped and turned, waiting for him to close the distance between them. From her crossed arms and scowl, Fred could tell she was upset. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?” he asked, placing a hand on her cheek.

She brushed him off. “Nothing,” responded Angelina, pushing her dark braids over one shoulder, and looking away from him. However, Fred could tell from the tone in her voice that there was in fact, _something_ wrong.

“Come on. Don’t lie to me Angie. You can tell me. What’s wrong?” implored Fred as he reached out his hand again and pulled her face towards his, coaxing her to look at him.

“Oh, now you’re here for me? How nice of you to actually pay me the time of day,” bit the athletic chaser. Her reaction struck Fred dumb. Is she mad at me? he wondered in utter bewilderment.

“What have _I_ done?!” he asked defensively. Just then a group of Hufflepuffs rounded the corner, casting sideways glances at the quarreling couple. Angelina grasped Fred’s wrist, pulling him from out of the middle of the corridor and tucking them into a small alcove.

“We haven’t spoken in weeks! You’re always too busy hanging out with Granger and Potter to spend time with any of your friends,” accused Angelina, chewing on the inside of her cheek, and shifting her weight from foot to foot. A pang of guilt rushed through Fred. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a puff of breath. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t really hung out with any of his usual friends in a while. Lee, he saw nearly every day as they shared a room, but he couldn’t remember the last time he spoke to any of them for more than a few minutes. He looked back at the girl in front of him to begin his apology but before he could, Angelina continued.

“Look, I’m going to ask you something and I want you to just answer me honestly. I won’t freak out or anything, just be honest—” Angelina took a deep breath “—do you maybe have a crush…or something on someone?”

“What?” asked Fred.

“You know? Like on Granger or…whatever?”

“Her—Granger, she’s just a friend. She’s been having a bit of a hard go of it lately, you know, with Ron and Harry off their rockers. George and I sort of took it as our responsibility to look after her. But you know, as friends. She’s a cool girl and I like her alright, but just as a friend. Only a friend. That’s it,” said Fred, feeling dizzy at just how many times he used the word ‘friend’. It was as he repeated the word, however, that he wondered just how true it was. He hadn’t ever really thought of Granger in that way. Perhaps that fact alone meant they were just friends. Angelina seemed unconvinced.

“As for not spending time with you—” Fred went on “—I’m sorry. We haven’t actually been spending _all_ our time with Granger. Mostly George and I have been working on our joke shop stuff. We’ve hit a couple of roadblocks you see.” He let out a frustrated sigh as he thought about the lack of money and dwindling supplies.

Angelina’s expression softened. “I guess I’m just used to having you all to myself. It’s been hard to adjust what with quidditch being canceled and everything…” said Angelina. Fred smiled knowing that was probably the closest he’d ever get to hearing Angelina admit she was wrong.

“You know, Hogsmeade weekend is coming up. How about you and I spend it together?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun.”

“Okay,” Angelina smiled sweetly.

“Are we good then?” asked Fred. He watched as Angelina’s smile turned into a playful smirk.

“Yeah, we’re good. But we have a lot of catching up to do.” With that statement she grabbed his wrist again and started pulling him down the corridor.

“Where are we going?” Fred asked dumbly.

“To _catch up._ I was thinking it’s been a while since we paid a visit to our secret passageway.”

“Oh—” said Fred and then realization struck “—Oooooohh! Oh, you saucy minx.” And with that his pace quickened till the two of them were practically running towards poor Gregory the Smarmy.


	10. Even Though

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A botched Hogsmeade visit and the first task of the tournament!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SMOKES! This chapter is over 9000 words...I genuinely thought about splitting it in two separate chapters but couldn't bring myself to do it! I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)!
> 
> Please, please, please feel free to leave kudos and comments. I love hearing people's thoughts and opinions on the story!
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_Something about the way he touched me._   
_Was so slow, the way he put his arms around me._   
_Even though I'm feeling lonely,_   
_I'm, I'm feeling lonely._

* * *

“I was thinking…”

“About?” Fred asked lazily as he leaned against the wall of the secret passageway behind Gregory the Smarmy. He watched the beautiful girl before him as she pulled her panties up her long, toned legs and moved her hands up to button her white school shirt. She was having a difficult go at matching the correct button to hole when Fred stepped forward and brushed her hands away. He made quick work of righting her shirt as she tightened his tie back to its proper place. They shared a small smile and leaned into each other, sharing a brief kiss.

“Well…I know you said Hogsmeade weekend would just be you and me, but what if we made it a group thing? You know, like the old times.” Angelina proposed, linking her fingers with Fred’s as they exited the passageway. He glanced down quizzically at their interlocked hands.

“What? You don’t fancy spending quality time with me?” asked Fred cheekily as they walked at a leisurely pace.

“Please, what _would_ we talk about?”

“Oh, I don’t know. What do we usually talk about?”

Angelina paused for a moment. “You know, now that I’m forced to think about it, I have no idea,” she laughed, Fred joining in when he realized he too couldn’t remember a single conversation they had shared in the past six years when pressured to.

As soon as his good humor appeared, it was dampened by a sudden realization. “When you say a ‘group thing’, who exactly do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You, me, George, Lee, Katie, Alicia—” mused Angelina, pursing her lips in thought “—you know, the whole gang.”

Fred hesitated, the list did not include Harry or Hermione and he and George had already agreed to go with them to Hogsmeade. When he originally brought up Hogsmeade with Angelina, he assumed George could still go with Harry and Hermione and it wouldn’t be a big deal, but if he _and_ George weren’t going…For a moment, he thought of proposing that they invite them along as well, but for some reason he got the sense that Angelina might not be too happy about him inviting his new friends to hang out with “the gang” as she so endearingly termed it. He also thought about backing out entirely and saying he forgot he had already made plans, but he knew that was most likely the worse of the two options.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll let George know,” he agreed, fighting past the sinking feeling in his stomach he got so often these days. He hoped Hermione wouldn’t be too upset with him for canceling on her but then he remembered her silent conversation with Harry at the Gryffindor table. From what he could tell, she would have Harry to go along with and so he didn’t feel quite as bad about ditching her for Angelina and the rest.

It was a week later, on Saturday morning as Fred walked with George towards the front of the grounds that he realized he had forgotten to tell Hermione they wouldn’t be attending Hogsmeade with her and Harry. It wasn’t as if he never had the opportunity to bring it up. He had plenty of opportunities, but every time he planned on telling her, he chickened out. At a certain point in the week he decided that when she brought up the coming Hogsmeade visit again, he would mention it, but much to his annoyance, she never did. The familiar sinking feeling in his stomach returned when he saw the tiny figure of Hermione Granger, adorned in baggy trousers, trainers, cardigan, and robes. She stood waiting for the carriages that took them to the small wizarding town of Hogsmeade just a few meters away from the small group that was Angelina, Alicia, Katie, and Lee. Her stoic posture contrasted sharply with the rowdy nature of his other friends. Instinctively his pace slowed, afraid of what he was going to say. George landed a firm punch to his shoulder, catching his attention.

“I already told her.”

“What? When?” Fred asked dumbly, feeling both guilty and like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“Wednesday,” stated George matter-of-factly. “I knew you were going to cock up the whole thing, and look at that, I was right.” George made a sweeping motion towards Hermione as they got closer, a smug expression on his face. “She took it surprisingly well too; in case you were wondering. Although I think she would have liked to hear the news from you since you were the one that changed our plans.”

Fred scowled at his brother. Mostly because he knew he was right, and Fred hated that. But he was also surprised that Hermione hadn’t said anything to him. As they neared, Angelina caught sight of them and ran up to greet them.

“It’s about time you two showed up. The whole school’s already left, and _we’ve_ been waiting for _you_. The lines are going to be outrageous at Honeydukes,” she complained, grabbing Fred’s arm and pulling him towards the group. Angelina did not let go of his arm. Instead she casually held onto it like it was something they’d done a million times and for some reason, Fred’s palms began to sweat. Though he was trying to stay focused on the conversation going on among his friends, his gaze kept drifting back to Hermione, standing alone, staring down at a large book in her hands. The cardigan she wore, he noticed looked quite familiar and with further inspection, he realized it was his. The very one he gave her at the World Cup and the very one she had said she loved so much. The sleeves, a bit too long for her arms, hung over her hands with only her fingers peeking out of the ends to hold her book. Her curls swayed gently in the chilly breeze, catching the light of the sun, and revealing hints of gold. If you didn’t know her or were only familiar with her in passing you wouldn’t’ think anything odd about Hermione Granger standing there, but something about the picture didn’t seem right to Fred. He stared for a moment longer when it dawned on him.

“Granger,” he called over his friends. The slight fourth year closed her book and looked up at him. “Where’s Harry?”

“Yeah, wasn’t he supposed to come with you?” George piped up, the conversation around them now put on hold as they all looked at her.

“Oh. Um, he couldn’t make it. He wasn’t feeling too well,” Hermione called back to them, an odd tone in her voice. Great. Not only had he ditched her but now she was going by herself, bemoaned Fred to himself. He felt like the biggest prat in all of England. The familiar sound of a carriage drifted up the lane and Fred took a step closer to her, breaking away from his circle of friends.

* * *

“You can tag along with us if you’d like.” Fred extended a hand towards her.

“Oh…” Hermione hesitated, unsure of what to say. She couldn’t very well say ‘Oh no thank you. I’m actually not alone. I have Harry Potter underneath a magical invisibility cloak’. For in fact, she _did_ have Harry Potter underneath a magical invisibility cloak, standing next to her whispering little comments to her as she pretended to read her book. Then again, even if she were alone, she wasn’t sure she was as invited as it seemed. Staring over Fred’s shoulder she saw Angelina glaring at her. Her harsh, scrutinizing gaze swept from the top of Hermione head to her toes, only to travel back up to her torso where she focused very hard. Hermione couldn’t imagine, for the life of her, what she was staring at. She looked down, wondering if she had spilled something on herself at breakfast, but only saw the knitted pattern of her cardigan. Wait, not her cardigan – Fred’s. It was Fred’s. Was that what Angelina was so focused on? Had she recognized the hand-knitted piece of clothing as her friends? If so, why was she so obviously put off by it? When she’d gotten dressed that morning, she’d scrounged her trunk for her favorite sweater. But instead of the chunky striped sweater her mother had bought her, she found the cardigan Fred had leant her oh so long ago. She should have returned it ages ago, but she simply forgot. Lifting the sweater from her trunk, she felt the soft thread and cozy fabric in her hands and couldn’t resist the urge to put it on. Surely, Fred wouldn’t care if she wore it just one more time. Afterall, if he hadn’t asked for it in all this time, he couldn’t miss it. Feeling a sharp tug on one of her curls, Hermione jumped and tucked her hands behind her back to swat at her invisible friend.

“Hermione?” Fred pushed further. She had yet to answer him and the carriage had reached them, stopping in front of the space that separated herself and the older Gryffindor students.

“Thank you, but I’m alright. I’m probably just going to pop into Tomes and Scrolls and then head back up to the castle,” answered Hermione, hoping that her bookish tendencies would seem off-putting to the lot.

“Are you sure?” he asked, frustrating her. It had been so easy for him to abandon her for his other friends before, why was it so hard now? she thought hotly.

“Yes. Completely. Besides I’m sure I wouldn’t be much fun. Boring books and all,” she laughed nervously.

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be any trou—” Fred started.

“She said she didn’t want to go. Leave the poor girl be. I’m sure she’ll be fine,” said Angelina, pulling him towards the carriage fill with their friends. Fred followed, looking back at her with furtive glances. Hermione waved goodbye, smiling politely as the sixth years rode off in the horseless carriage. George waved back with exaggerated enthusiasm. Fred waved as well but looking satisfyingly guilty. Hermione relished a tad in it. Serves him right, she thought mercilessly as they disappeared out of view. When George had told her, they couldn’t go to Hogsmeade with her and Harry because Fred had told their friends they would go with them instead, Hermione had been a little hurt. However, George was quick to defend his twin, stating in his words ‘Fred is the big soft, push-over out of the two of us’ and gave in easily when guilt-tripped by their friends. It made sense. Still the polite thing to do would have been to tell her himself and not wait till a few days before to do so. Truly, it was the polite thing to do.

“You didn’t have to pull my hair Harry,” she scolded as she rubbed the back of her head.

“Sorry.”

“Why couldn’t we tell Fred and George you were with me again? They already know about the invisibility cloak,” Hermione questioned, tucking her book into the pocket of her robes. She had understood Harry’s wariness to being out in such a public place while everyone at Hogwarts still thought poorly of him. It was the reason she had suggested he wear the cloak.

“Because the last time they spotted me wearing it, they practically tackled me,” said Harry sounding slightly aggravated. “I’d rather not risk that.”

Hermione nodded. The next carriage had arrived and so she stepped on board, seating herself on the bench to her right. She felt Harry board the carriage as well, taking a seat opposite her.

“Can’t you just take off the cloak for a little Harry? There’s no one else around and it’s getting a bit odd trying to talk to you when I can’t see you,” said Hermione, staring in the direction of what she hoped was his face. Then, before her eyes, Harry appeared. Or the parts of him that existed from the chest up, as he pulled the cloak off of his head. His dark hair was uncontrollably messy and long, even for him. His cheeks and nose were tinted pink from the cold, and he smiled at her impishly.

“Better?”

“Much—” Hermione smiled at him “—so your conversation with Sirius is tonight?”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded his head enthusiastically. If Hermione hadn’t already known, the jovial expression on Harry’s face would have given away just how excited he was to speak with his godfather. It had been approximately six months since they last saw him and the soonest Harry could see Sirius wasn’t soon enough.

“Would you like me to be there?” she asked, secretly hoping he would say yes as she was extremely curious as to how Sirius planned on getting in contact with his godson. She looked at her best friend expectantly, but from the expression on his face, she wasn’t at all surprised by his response.

“Oh um…I was actually thinking I would talk to him alone. Sorry.” His face looked like that of a guilty party and it made Hermione feel bad for even asking. Of course, he’d rather have the time with Sirius to himself than share it with her.

“That’s alright. I just thought I’d offer my support if you needed it,” Hermione lied, smiling in reassurance.

They traveled the path for a little while longer, chatting about classes until Harry had to put his cloak back on. Hermione pulled out her book again so that to any unsuspecting onlookers, she was merely reading as she rode to the village by herself. When they arrived at Hogsmeade, they quietly agreed on a butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks, and off they went.

“Where do we sit?” Harry whispered to her from under his cloak as they scanned the crowded pub.

Hermione spotted a table near the window, tucked uncomfortably close to a Christmas tree, and pointed discreetly. “Over there. You sit and I’ll go get us some drinks.” She headed towards the long wooden bar, sticky and crowded, and ordered two butterbeers. It was not until after she ordered the drinks and held them in her hands that she realized how unusual she must look. A single person, holding two hot foaming tankards of butterbeer to go and sit at a table by themselves in a rowdy pub. Merlin, I hope I don’t see anyone I know, she thought as she weaved through tables and slipped past the mingling patrons.

“Harry? Where are you?” whispered Hermione, placing the tankards down onto the table and wiping her sticky hands on her robes.

“I’m opposite the tree,” said Harry and she pushed one of the butterbeers closer to his seat. Squeezing herself through the tight space between the tree and the table to get to her chair, the little bells that hung on the tree tinkled and chimed as she struggled. Once sitting, she looked down to find a spattering of tinsel and needles adorning her shoulders and hair. She picked them off one by one, with a huff. Once she was done, sipping on her drink, she found herself at a loss for what to say. They couldn’t very well have a full conversation. She’d look like a loon talking to herself. However, much to her relief they were soon joined by two unexpected guests.

“Hullo Hermione!” Hagrid greeted her enthusiastically.

“Hullo Hagrid!—" she said brightly before looking to the haggard man next to him “—Professor Moody.” She smiled politely, but contrary to her friendly manner and wide smile, she was mot very pleased to see the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Truly, she did not care for Professor Moody at all. She found him crass, vile, insensitive, and downright insane. While his lessons thus far had been well informed and thorough, the lasting impression that his first lesson on unforgiveable curses was hard to forget.

“Yes, hullo Granger. Hullo Potter,” Moody grumbled. It didn’t surprise her that Moody could see Harry under his cloak. While he was facing her, his small beady black eye giving her his full attention, the magical eye that spun constantly in his head was looking straight at the seemingly empty seat that Harry currently resided.

Hagrid cleared his throat. “Mind if we join yous?”

“Not at all.” She motioned to the two empty chairs to her left. Very aware that their business was with Harry and not her, Hermione turned her attention to outside the window. Hogsmeade was a quaint little village with its cottage like exterior giving it the aesthetic of something out of a fairytale. Though it was not yet December, the village was already decorated festively for the holidays. Red and gold Tinsel adorned the streetlamps, garlands draped atop doorways and wreaths of pine and ribbon hung on every door. Little bells swung suspended from wherever the wind was sure to catch them, tinkling in the early winter breeze – it’s sound causing warmth and excitement in all that heard it. Several trees stood tall and cheery outside shops, their deep green needles decorated in strings of beads and popcorn. Bright sparkly ornaments covered them from head to toe and on each a golden star sat proud and shining. Sprigs of holly and poinsettia flowers could be seen littering every nook and cranny possible and the lights – gorgeous lights of white, red, green, and yellow – were strung in as many places as possible. The only thing missing was the first snow of winter.

She watched as students and locals rushed by, some holding great big bags from the shops – mos t likely getting their Christmas shopping done early this year. Hermione smiled. She had taken care of all her shopping the previous week – this year by mail order. Those that were not holding bags were holding tightly onto themselves, trying to fight against the harsh wind and biting cold as they walked down the cobbled roads that ran through the village. Or they were holding onto each other, friends linked arm in arm, children clinging to their parent’s legs, and couples walking hand in hand. She watched the couples and felt a tightness in her chest. Her thoughts drifted to Ron and how his recent redemption had relit the small flame she had previously believed to be dampened by his actions. It seemed that nothing would come of that small flame, however. Sure, she had kissed him, albeit on the cheek, but nothing came of it since. She had followed Lavender’s advice and put herself front and center and he simply went about things as if it had never happened. It was safe to reason that if Ron liked her, even a little, more than just a friend, then he would have made some type of move by now. Right? Hermione sighed. The door to Honeydukes across the street opened, revealing a couple she recognized. Fred and Angelina walked hand in hand as they laughed, followed by the rest of their friends. Seeing the group of them having a raving time, a frown formed on her face. She looked around the raucous space of The Three Broomsticks and thought perhaps a Hogsmeade weekend wasn’t what she wanted after all. Finishing her butterbeer quickly, she stood and excused herself from the table with a promise to see Harry later and visit Hagrid for tea that week.

The next day Hermione found herself in a position that was starting to become all too familiar. In a small, abandoned classroom, known only to three students in the whole of Hogwarts, she stood at a workbench next to Fred working on their next product. Working with Fred wasn’t nearly the headache she imagined when she first volunteered to assist them in their inventions. He had the same love for problem solving that she did and as long as the subject kept him interested, he was hardworking, mindful, and incredibly diligent. But despite how easy Fred was to work with, Hermione couldn’t help but be annoyed by everything he did that afternoon. She reasoned part of her frustration may be linked to her increased anxiety about the first task of the Triwizard Tournament the following day – an anxiety she was currently trying to ignore by putting her mind to work.

Fred’s infamous notebook sat between them, her and Fred scribbling notes into it as they added ingredients into the cauldron and even though the sound of his quill was indistinct from her own, it’s scratching sent her up the wall. She sent twitchy looks in his direction out of the corner of her eye as their potion sat bubbling over the flame. Fred’s long arm, much to her annoyance, reached across her for the bottle of Neem oil. She stepped back involuntarily, like two positive ends of a magnet her body was drawn away from him. He gave her a brief questioning expression before pulling back his arm and uncorking the bottle, adding a few drops into the cauldron. A few moments later, the potion turned a vile putrid green.

“Bollocks!” Fred shouted, attempting to pull the spoon from the cauldron, but only succeeding in jostling the cauldron on its flame. The potion had completely solidified.

“Frederick!” Hermione scolded at their stunted progress. “What did you do?!”

“What did I do?! I added the Neem oil like you said to do!” He pointed into the notebook at her handwriting. “See! You wrote it right here!”

Hermione looked down at the page and shook her head. “That was written in _purple_ ink!”

“What the hell does _that_ mean?!” Fred exclaimed, scrunching his eyebrows in frustration.

“Are you serious? I’ve told you a thousand times!”

“I’m pretty sure I’d remember it if we’d been over it a _thousand_ times.”

Hermione huffed, feeling flushed with anger. “Very cute, Frederick. We’ve been over this. Red ink means a failed attempt or error, blue means inconclusive results, purple means a possible untested idea, and black means successful instructions, trials, and results!”

“And we need to be that thorough because…?” Fred leaned against the worktop, crossing his arms.

“Because if we aren’t then things like _this_ happen!” Hermione defended, crossing her arms as well and staring Fred in the eye.

“Alright, alright. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Do you two mind? I’m trying to get some work done over here,” George called from across the room. The second Weasley twin sat near the fire, working on an essay for his transfiguration class. An assignment that Fred assured Hermione he had finished when she goaded the two of them about their schoolwork.

 _“Now that I’m helping you, I won’t allow you to fall behind in your studies,”_ she had told them. It, of course, had resulted in a numerous amount of eye rolls, groans, and teasing on their part but so far, they had been good about staying on top of their work. It didn’t even take them that long to shell out proper, decent results either. All this time, she had thought them dumb when in fact they were just lazy with very little patience for school in general.

With a sigh, she broke her gaze from Fred and threw up her hands. “Whatever.”

Fred gave her an odd look as she turned and stormed across the small classroom, heading towards the fire to warm herself. The place was freezing, a winter’s chill seeping through the small window near the front of the room. She didn’t make it to the fire though, as George stopped her, extending an arm, and scooping her easily onto the plush arm of his chair.

“What happened to ‘I’m working, don’t bother me’?” asked Hermione crossing her arms in annoyance and peaking at the words on George’s parchment.

“I need a distraction, or I very well may lose my mind.”

“I think it’s a bit late for that.”

“Oh, she has jokes, I see,” growled George, pulling Hermione off the arm and assaulting her sides with tickling fingers.

Hermione laughed against her will as she fought off George’s attack. “You are the absolute worst George Weasley. Does your mother know you behave this badly?” she asked, finally breaking away from George’s grasp and sitting back on the arm. This time, he legs bridged over his lap. She kicked off her shoes, chucking them aside and tucking her feet between the cushion and George’s thigh.

“If I’m being honest, I think she’s under the impression I behave much worse.”

“Well, let’s keep expectations high above action. Shall we?” laughed Hermione feeling in better spirits. She picked up George’s slightly wrinkled parchment and reading over his work.

“Say, speaking of big strapping Bulgarians,” George piped up, snatching his essay out her hands, making Hermione pout. She kept forgetting the twins didn’t need her looking over their work like Ron and Harry.

“Were we talk about big strapping Bulgarians?” Hermione asked casually, intrigued by just where he was taking the conversation.

“We are now—” George reasoned “—now, speaking of big strapping Bulgarians, I couldn’t help but notice, you know what with my keen observation skills and all, that a certain Triwizard champion has been in the library every time we find you there. Anything you want to share Granger?”

Hermione groaned in aggravation. “He’s been showing up for weeks! It’d be one thing if it were just him, but everywhere he goes there’s at least ten girls giggling and pointing. It makes it almost impossible to get any work done.” She crossed her arms and blew a curl out of her face.

“That isn’t exactly what I was referring to,” said George, looking up at Hermione’s confused face.

“He fancies you,” stated Fred curtly from across the room.

“Who?” asked Hermione incredulously.

“Krum,” the twins responded matter of fact.

Hermione stood, slipping her shoes back on and walking over to assist Fred in cleaning up. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, corking a bottle, and placing it in a cabinet below.

“Ridiculous?” George spat as if the work itself was distasteful. “Did you hear that Freddie? She called us ridiculous.

“I did Georgie,” said Fred, turning on his heal and facing Hermione. “What _do_ you have to say for yourself Miss Granger?” he asked in a scolding manner as he blocked her way. Hermione rolled her eyes and pushing past him with more force than she intended to. Fred grasped her wrist, spinning her around and taking the bottle of Neem oil from her hand.

“Now then. Someone’s in a sour mood today.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I wonder –” Fred ignored her continuing “—if it’s because you think I forgot.”

“Forgot?”

Fred took a moment to reach over her and place the Neem oil on the shelf behind her. Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine that contrasted strangely with the burning sensation on her wrist where Fred’s fingers remained. They really should charm that window to keep the cold out, she thought briefly. Fred’s touch was gone just as quickly as it appeared, and she was left standing by herself in the little work area as Fred headed over to his bag. She followed him and looked on in surprise, eyes growing wide, as Fred pulled out the largest box of sugar quills she’d ever seen from his bag.

“I said a week’s supply. Not a year’s,” she gaped, hands hovering in the air afraid to take the gift that was much too generous.

“Well, I figured with your sweet tooth, this was as close to a week’s supply for you I could get.” Fred smirked, pushing the box into her arms.

Hermione took it, looking speechless between him and the enormous box. It had to have at least two hundred sugar quills. “Cheeky,” she said simply, fighting the grins on her face. Opening the box, she reached in and grabbed a sugar quill off the top, pulling back the wrapping and popping the end in her mouth. The hard candy melted slowly in her mouth. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath through her nose, feeling the stress melt away like the sugar on her tongue. When she opened her eyes, she found Fred looking very oddly at her. “What?”

Fred coughed, looking away swiftly, and scratching the back of his head as she swung his bookbag over his shoulder. Hermione looked over at George in question, but only saw him smirking oddly at his brother, almost as if he were holding back a laugh. They really were strange sometimes.

“Now, about the ten knuts—”

“Oh, keep it!” Hermione hurriedly said. “You should use it to buy supplies for your inventions anyways.”

“Are you sure?” asked Fred, looking down at her as the three of them exited the small classroom.

“Yes, of course. I think you’ve fully paid me back with these.” Hermione held the large box up in response.

“Good—” Fred laughed “—because I was about to tell you, I didn’t have the money anyways.”

The three laughed, and Hermione returned her focus to the sugar quill in her hand, placing the tip of it back into her mouth and running her tongue along the feathery grooves. They were silent for a while as they walked, a nice peaceful moment, ruined by the fact that Hermione could not get Fred and George’s words out of her head.

“Viktor Krum does _not_ fancy me.” She felt the heavy weight of Fred’s arm rest on her shoulders and looked up. He was staring down at her like one would a naïve child.

“He can’t keep his eyes off you Granger.”

Hermione pursed her lips and frowned, confused by the odd joke they were playing on her. They continued towards Gryffindor tower, Fred’s arm remaining on her shoulders and Hermione wondering why she hadn’t brushed it off yet like she usually did. In fact, she hardly ever brushed off Fred and George’s small touches anymore. They were incredibly touchy people, which was odd as Ron was not. Ron was awkward and valued his personal space. The twins, however, didn’t know the meaning of the word. The two had no qualms with pulling her this way and that way, picking her up, wrapping their arms around her. Fred and George Weasley had no sense of boundaries, interacting with people on such a level of ease that they turned other’s space into their own.

They were almost to the tower when Harry came running up to them, looking more disheveled than usual. His hair pointed in every direction possible, rivalling Hermione’s in unruliness, the tie around his neck was so loosened that the knot threatened to come undone completely, and his shirt hung wrinkled and untucked from his trousers.

“Hermione—” the dark-haired boy gasped “—I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“Harry, what is it?” she asked, taking a step towards him.

“Um.” He hesitated, glancing at Fred and George behind her with hesitancy.

“Right. Don’t mind us,” one of them said awkwardly.

“We were just leaving,” the other finished before they stepped around Harry and Hermione and continued in the direction of Gryffindor tower. As soon as she could no longer see the retreating backs of the twins, Hermione felt like it was safe to speak again.

“What’s the matter?”

Harry informed her that he needed help on his summoning charms, something they learned in class the previous month, but also something he needed a lot of help with. As much as Hermione loved to help Harry with his schoolwork, the urgency of the lessons was suspicious. The first challenge of the tournament was the following day. When she pressed him for the reason, he would only say that Moody had stopped him in the hallways earlier that day and told him that it was something he needed to practice if he wanted any chance at succeeding in the first challenge. At first, the idea that a professor was condoning cheating, especially in something as serious at the Triwizard Tournament, rubbed at her conscience, but she pushed it aside. Harry needed all the help he could get. At the end of the day that’s what this was all about, making sure Harry Potter stayed alive. Professor Moody could have made it a little easier by giving the hint to Harry a sooner, instead of the day before the challenge, but still it was better than nothing.

They stayed up late into the night, practicing and practicing. When they first started, Harry could barely manage to lamely drag an item a few feet in his general direction. Hermione thought perhaps his issue was a lack of force. She insisted that he needed to really mean the intended spell when he cast it, but that resulted in items flying through the air of the common room at breakneck speed. After taking several books to the head, she insisted that they switch to pillows to avoid any more injury. However, still Harry was failing to make the items come to him directly.

 _“You need to_ focus _Harry,” Hermione scolded at one in the morning when another pillow had come flying into the side of her head._

_“I am focusing Hermione!” he yelled back, running his hands through his hair, and gripping it at the root._

_Afraid that he might rip it out from sheer frustration, she took a deep breath and tried again, “Harry, it’s not that you’re not focusing, it’s just that you’re not focusing in the right way. You need to cast the spell with purpose and as you do, just envision the object you want flying into your hands.”_

It was after that piece of advice that he successfully summoned a pillow across the room and into his hands. Hermione just hoped that now, as she walked through the crowd towards the first task that it would be enough for whatever they had planned for the four champions. Absentmindedly she pulled on the two braids she had forced her hair into that morning. She relished in the soothing sensation of the hair slightly tugging at her scalp. Her eyes drooped slightly in exhaustion, and she could physically feel the bags under her eyes. Students pushed past her in hordes as they fought to get to the arena that held the first task, but she was in no hurry. The arena was large and intimidating, rising high into the air and casting a long shadow in her direction as she walked down the hill towards what felt like impending doom. It very much resembled the Burrow in some ways, she thought, – a hodgepodge of wood scraps and precarious construction holding up the stadium seats. However, she never questioned the integrity of the stands for a second; magic was a strange thing. She glanced nervously to the tents that connected to the arena, striped blue and white. Harry was in there. Was he scared?

“Alright there, Granger?” came a voice to her left. Turning, she found George matching her pace. She nodded.

“Are you sure?” came a second voice to her right, no surprise as wherever George was Fred was close by, and vice versa.

“Yea, no offense, but you look dreadful,” commented George. Hermione frowned at him, feeling a strong urge to grab his knit cap and pull it over his stupid face.

“Ever the charmer George,” said Hermione sarcastically, but still she rubbed her face self-consciously, wondering just how bad she really looked.

“I’m not George, I’m Fred.”

“No, you’re not. You’re George.”

“You think I don’t know my own name?”

“No, but I think you like to mess with people when they’re absolutely not in the mood.”

“Then pray tell us, what’s got you in such sour spirits Granger? It’s the first task of the tournament! It’s supposed to be exciting,” said Fred, nudging her side with his elbow.

“If you must know, I was up all-night helping Harry prepare for today,” she responded with a small yawn.

“You know, Charlie said earlier that Harry looked a little peaky as well. I figured it was just the nerves,” Fred shrugged.

At the mention of Charlie’s name, Hermione perked up. What was Charlie Weasley doing at Hogwarts? And why had he been to see Harry?

“Why is your brother here?” she asked, as they neared the arena.

“Dunno,” answered Fred.

“He never mentioned it,” George added. Both of them acting as if the fact that Charlie, of all people, would be there wasn’t at all strange. It couldn’t have possibly just been to support Harry, they barely knew each other. She also couldn’t imagine him taking time off from work just to watch the Tournament. He’d have to come all the way from Rom— she stopped dead in her tracks, her stomach dropping.

“Wait, what is it your brother does again?” she asked Fred and George frantically, them having turned around to face her when she stopped walking.

“Who, Charlie?” George looked at her confused.

“No, Percy. Yes! Of course, Charlie!” Hermione yelled, having no patience for George’s general state of being.

“He works with dragons of course. You knew that Granger,” Fred answered. Hermione felt like crying or screaming or both. It all made sense now and she had no idea what to do.

“When did you two know that Charlie was in town?” She pulled at her braids again, this time harder, causing pain to shoot through her scalp.

Fred looked at her with concern. “About two days ago, why? Granger, what’s wrong?”

Hermione wheeled forward towards the twins and began frantically hitting them. Their cries of surprise, not stopping her for a minute.

“How. Could. You. Not. Tell. Me. You. Idiots?!” She punctuated each word with a hit to each ginger-headed twin. If she had known sooner, she could have helped him! She could have told him. She let out an audible gasp and ceased hitting the two idiots. She had to tell Harry! Turning on her heel, she ran full speed towards the champion’s tents. Hermione ran until her calves burned and her chest ached, but she did not stop until she had made it to her destination, skidding to a stop right before the main entrance. She very well couldn’t barge right into the tent to find Harry, she reasoned to herself. Students most likely weren’t allowed to enter as they pleased. Creeping to the side, she noticed a split in the canvas that traveled all the way to the ground. Moving the material to the side, ever so slightly, she peaked in and saw Harry sitting not too far away.

“Psst!” she called, quietly attempting to grab his attention. Harry perked up at the sound and turned his head, looking for the source.

“Harry!” she whispered, hoping to draw him over this time. With great relief, Harry stood and walked towards her, stopping just short of the fabric.

“Hermione—" Harry looked at her incredulously “—what are you doing here?”

“I’ve um, I’ve come to see you off,” she stuttered unsure of just how to tell him what he was about to face. “Remember, the key is to concentrate. After that you just— “

“—have to battle a dragon?”

Overwhelmed with the raw emotions of fear, relief, and surprisingly…pride, she pushed through the fabric and pulled her best friend into a tight hug. She held him close, feeling the familiar sting of tears welling up in her eyes. He had known. The stupid, stupid boy had known all this time and he hadn’t told her. Mostly likely one of his many attempts at martyrdom. She relished in the solidity that was her best friend Harry Potter as he hugged her just as tightly. For all she knew, this might be the last time they saw each other, and she was pretty sure Harry knew that to be true as well as his fingers dug into her back. She breathed in his familiar scent – handle polish from the broomstick servicing kit she had gotten him the year before, the earthy scent of the quidditch pitch, fresh linen, and something that could only be described as very distinctly Harry.

A flash of light appeared behind the lids of her eyes and she pulled away from her friend in confusion. Looking around the tent she saw none other than Rita Skeeter. Adorned in a vile lime green skirt and equally putrid vivid yellow blouse, she sauntered towards them followed by a camera man and a floating Quick Notes Quill and parchment.

“Ahhhhh, young love. How…stirring,” Rita sighed, looking at the two of them behind her horn-rimmed glasses like the cat that got the cream. Her lips, painted bright red, pursed as she assessed the two of them, thinking of what she might write next.

“You. I’m surprised they let you in here,” Hermione glared at her, detesting everything about the woman – from her curly blonde hair piled high on her head, down to her pointy toed heels.

“Well, I have to say—" the slippery journalist walked closer to Hermione, circling her “—I expected you to be… prettier.”

“You have no business being here!” bellowed a deep voice from across the tent. Viktor Krum stood tall and intimidating, looking at Rita Skeeter disapprovingly. “This tent is for champions and friends.”

Rita Skeeter slid her eyes over the strapping Bulgarian in a predatory fashion. She smiled in a slimy manner, shifting her gaze between Hermione and the two champions before addressing the tent, “No matter, we’ll be going. We…got what we wanted.”

* * *

Fred stood in the stands next to his brother feeling more excited and more anxious than he ever had. Hermione was still missing, and he had no idea what happened and why she had run off like that. He wanted to run after her, but George pulled him back, informing him that they had to make it inside the arena, or they’d never get decent seats. Fred agreed but insisted on saving a seat for Hermione in case she showed up again. So now, while everyone else in the stands chatted away in excitement, Fred continually scanned the crowd looking for the familiar figure of Hermione Granger. It wasn’t until the first task was about to start that Hermione emerged out of nowhere by his side. Fred moved out of the way, allowing her to take her seat between himself and George. Her eyes and nose were red, like she’d been crying, but before he could ask her what happened, Ludo Bagman entered the arena and began speaking.

“Hello and welcome to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament!” Bagman announced with great enthusiasm in his voice. Git, thought Fred looking over to his brother and sharing a look of discontent.

Bagman continued, “Now, for our first task, the objective is simple! A golden egg has been placed within a nest in the arena. The goal for each champion is to obtain that egg! Obtain the egg and they move onto the next task! However, each egg will be guarded by a mother _dragon.”_ The crowd went wild. Some gasped in shock and horror, others screamed in excitement. Fred stood silent, realizing now why Hermione had been upset. George, however, not making the connections, jumped, and hollered at the prospect of watching four people go head to head with actual real-life dragons. He reached over Hermione and grabbed Fred’s shoulder shaking him in elation.

Once the crowd had settled down enough, Bagman started again, “Each of our contestants have selected a dragon at random already and so it is my pleasure to start off the Triwizard Tournament with our first champion, Cedric Diggory!”

The stadium was hysterical, screaming and cheering as loud as possible. A chant of _Diggory! Diggory! Diggory!_ echoed through the space as they waited for the first contestant to appear. Fred watched as a dragon was directed into the arena, his brother Charlie standing out as a giant ginger beacon among the other dragon handlers. He clapped for his brother, shouting Charlie’s name as the excitement around him, brought him out of his worried stupor and fueled his excitement.

Fred cheered and clapped, watching in awe as each champion took their turn at the dragons. Each brought their own spin to the task, some getting burned, others slammed into rocks by the strong tails of their dragon, but all succeeding at getting their golden egg and moving onto the next task. Cedric Diggory had used a transfigured dog to distract his dragon, just barely avoiding the full force of its flames when it changed its mind last minute. Fleur Delacour put her dragon into some kind of trance, distracting it long enough to obtain her egg. Her skirt did catch fire at the last minute though, something Fred found very entertaining. Krum’s battle was the most entertaining. Sending a spell right into the dragon’s eyes, the blinded beast trampled frantically about the arena, smashing its eggs in the process. Some in the crowd booed at that, but Fred thought it was pretty cool, nonetheless. Despite his invested viewership of the first task, Fred continually snuck glances at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. Her face was maskless as she watched in equaled awe and overwhelming horror. She was an open book.

So, when Harry finally stepped into the arena, his dragon much nastier and aggressive than the last two, Fred reached out and brushed his thumb across the back of Hermione’s hand. It was a brief bit of contact, but he hoped it was enough to calm her. Hermione looked down at her hand and then back up to him with a curious look before giving Fred a small, tight-lipped smile of appreciation. The Hungarian Horntail, a vile breed of dragon Fred was very familiar with because of his brother, paced the arena menacingly as Harry entered further into arena. The crowd gasped collectively when the terrifying dragon spotted him, shooting flames in his direction. Luckily, the young contestant jumped out of the way at the last second, taking refuge behind a large bolder. Fred’s heart leapt and sunk. This was Harry Potter – his little brother’s best friend, his teammate. How as he planning on defeating this dragon?

“Your wand Harry! Use your bloody wand!” Fred was brought out of his morbid realization by the shouts of Hermione Granger. He turned to look at her standing beside him, caught completely off guard by her outburst and use of profanity. Then, almost as if he had heard her, Harry withdrew his wand and cast a spell that Fred could not hear. The crowd stood in stale silence, confused and anxious as nothing happened for quite some time and then, zooming through the air came Harry’s Firebolt. Fred roared with excitement, feeling now that Harry had some kind of chance at maybe defeating the dragon. No one at Hogwarts was better on a broom than Harry Potter. Now, mounted on his broom, Harry’s small and distant figure began advancing the dragon, attempting to grab the golden egg out from underneath it. He twisted and dropped in the air, narrowly avoiding swipes and flames, and Fred found himself chewing on his thumb from nerves. At a particularly close miss from the dragon, he felt someone grab tightly onto his robes and looked down to see Hermione holding tightly onto him, her eyes never leaving Harry who continued to fly through the air. Releasing his thumb from his mouth, Fred reached down and took Hermione’s hand in his tightly, looking back as Harry began taunting the dragon, getting it to lift up into the air. Everyone held their breath as the Horntail spread its impressive, bat-like wings and lifted into the air towards Harry, but before the dragon knew what was happening Harry was diving down, faster than falling, towards the eggs and then it was done. He had captured the egg and with the fastest time out of all the contestants!

Fred released Hermione’s hand as he jumped up and down in excitement, grabbing onto his brother’s shoulders and shaking George in celebration. Hermione between them was more ecstatic than he had ever seen her. She jumped and screamed, the smile on her face so wide he could feel the joy emanating off of her. He watched as she hugged George enthusiastically, both of them laughing in relief as the crowd chanted _Potter! Potter! Potter! Potter!_ She turned towards him and jumped into arms, wrapping her arms around his neck. On instinct he lifted her up, her legs dangling off the ground as they both laughed. Fred held her close, feeling her whole body buzz with happiness. When she pulled back, her face merely a hair breadth away, Fred’s breath caught in his throat. He swallowed thickly, his face warming and most likely matching the pretty blush that had spread across Hermione’s face as he stood there with the younger witch still in his arms. He coughed awkwardly, diffusing the tension and released his bookish friend. Her body slide down the front of his and when her feet hit the ground, Fred made quick work of turning to Lee nearby.

A few hours later, when all the proud Gryffindors joined in the common room to celebrate, Fred sat in a relaxed state. He and George had done their due diligence as the rowdy party starters earlier in the night, smuggling bottles of butterbeer into the tower and passing them around as they decorated the small common room with banners and small self-exploding fireworks. Harry was the star of the show. Everyone, it seemed, had decided to forget their pervious opinions on his entrance to the tournament, and instead were taking any opportunity they got to congratulate the boy. That included his little brother. The two friends had made up the moment they had all reached Gryffindor tower after the first task, Ron admitting that he didn’t think any sane person would enter their name willingly after watching Harry get almost eaten by a dragon. Fred just shook his head and thanked Merlin he had never been that dense. Looking around the room from his seat, his gaze landed on Hermione as she sipped on her butterbeer, her full pink lips wrapping around the bottle. She leaned against Ron, her head resting on his shoulder casually as he and Harry talked.

He stood, setting his empty bottle on the table next to him, and walked over to the trio.

“Well look at this, the happy throuple is back together.”

“Shove off,” said Ron, but in good spirits as he smiled good-naturedly.

“Now, don’t go getting all moody again brother,” said George, swooping in to stand by Fred’s side.

“Yeah, we much prefer you like this. Less morose. Less of a prat,” added Fred.

“Oh, leave him be, Fred. You’re being a twit,” Hermione chided, lifting her head off of Ron’s shoulder and giving Fred a warning look.

“Oi, don’t run _my_ good name through the dirt,” gasped George, holding a hand up to his chest, scandalized.

“I didn’t. I put Fred’s name through the dirt. You, George, are just lovely.”

“How is it you tell them apart? I’ve known them my whole life and even _I_ can’t do that,” asked Ron in wonder, looking down at Hermione.

“Yeah, how _do_ you tell us apart, Granger?” asked George, sounding a bit annoyed. Fred wasn’t surprised. Switching places was his favorite joke.

“Now why would I tell you that? That takes all the fun out of it—” Hermione gave them a cheeky grin before shooing them away with her hands “—now go on. Go cause trouble somewhere else you two.”

Fred and George turned, heading over to where the bottles of butterbeer sat.

“She’s something isn’t she,” George commented, reaching down, and grabbing a bottle.

“Yeah,” Fred responded, grabbing a bottle himself and looking back at Hermione.

“Very spirited Granger is, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Fred agreed, not breaking his gaze.

“Quite pretty too, don’t you think?”

“Yeah—” Fred only realized what his twin had said once he’d spoken, pulling his gaze away from Hermione and looking at his brother in scandal “—wait, what? No, she can’t be pretty, I mean she’s Granger. She’s Ron’s pal. That would be inappropriate.”

“Oh, right. Of course,” agreed George, giving Fred a cheeky grin.

“Don’t be ridiculous Georgie,” said Fred shaking his head. “I don’t think of her like that.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, do _you_ think of her like that?”

“Nah, not really my type.”

“She’s like a little sister, really.”

“Absolutely.”

“And if I’ve been spending a lot of time with her it’s only because she’s been helping us.”

“Seems reasonable to me.”

They were quiet for a moment, the air between them stiff and uncomfortable as Fred tried to think of more ways to defend his growing fondness for Hermione Granger.

“Besides—" Fred continued “—even if I did feel that way, which I _don’t,_ she’s head over heels for our baby brother and I’m pretty sure Angelina and I are getting serious.” He looked over to Angelina, chatting enthusiastically with Alicia Spinnet about Harry’s flying earlier at the task. Her hands flew through the air as she mimed flying maneuvers.

“Yeah, when did this happen?” George asked, his tone and expression one of amusement.

“Well, it hasn’t really happened yet. But things are different…You were the one that said we needed to do more than mess around in secret passageways.”

“No, I said that’s what _she_ wanted. I couldn’t care less what you do in your free time Freddie,” laughed George, before taking a more serious tone. “But if I _did_ care about your free time activities, I’d probably ask something like ‘How do you feel about having a…girlfriend or whatever’?”

“She’s a gorgeous girl that I get along with swimmingly. Oh, and she lets me shag her on a consistent basis. I’m pretty sure I’d be a complete nutter if I were upset about it,” Fred stated concretely. The words were true, at least he thought them to be true, but the speculation in George’s response when he simply replied ‘If you say so mate’ put a grain of doubt into Fred’s mind. 


	11. Nightingale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rita Skeeter's done it again, her latest article sending Hermione Granger into anger and causing tension among the Gryffindors. However, is there an unexpected truth to her article?
> 
> George has convinced Fred that Hermione is turning him soft. Fred is so against the sentiment that he swears to himself that it's time to put space between himself and the younger girl. However, he only ends up doing the exact opposite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)!
> 
> Please, please, please feel free to leave kudos and comments. I love hearing people's thoughts and opinions on the story!
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_Does it seem like I'm looking for an answer_   
_To a question I can't ask_   
_I don't know which way the feather falls_   
_Or if I should blow it to the left_

* * *

Hermione slammed her copy of the Daily Prophet down, shaking the Gryffindor table and sloshing tea over the side of her cup. Unbelievable, just absolutely unbelievable _,_ she thought as she read and reread the words on the page. She’d nearly glossed over the vile article. Unlike the first bit of writing Rita Skeeter did on her, this one was tucked away between a piece on dwarf affairs and an advertisement for self-cleaning cauldrons. If she’d hadn’t been well acquainted with her own name and shocked by the peculiarity of seeing it in print, Hermione very well might have missed it.

“Alright Hermione?” someone asked. Hermione looked up to find the unwavering brown eyes of Ginny Weasley staring straight at her from across the table. Looking around, Hermione saw several of their classmates shooting her dirty looks as they wiped up puddles of pumpkin juice and tea. A flash of embarrassment rushed over her, but quickly dissolved back to anger when she looked back down at the paper. At a time like this she didn’t really care about a few spilled drinks.

No. At a time like this, the only thing she could focus on was the rage coursing through her veins. The nasty woman had taken things a step too far and now Hermione Granger was _livid_. 

“She’s done it again!” Hermione huffed before reading aloud, **“ _Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to be developing a taste for famous wizards. Her latest prey, sources report, is none other than the Bulgarian Bonbon Viktor Krum. No word yet on how Harry Potter is taking this latest emotional blow.”_**

“You didn’t tell me you were dating _Viktor Krum!_ ” Ginny exclaimed, glaring at her. Hermione looked across the table at her younger friend in disappointment.

“Ginny, I am _not_ dating Viktor Krum.”

“Yet,” said two identical voices before the Weasley twins graced her with their presence – seating themselves on either side of her. Ginny raised an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes at her – her silent cue for Hermione to begin explaining. Honestly, she’d rather not get into the twin’s current strange joke they were playing on her, but if Hermione knew Ginny Weasley, which she did, then she knew the ginger girl wouldn’t let something like this go. Hermione heaved a great sigh.

“These two are under the impression that Viktor Krum fancies me—” at the statement, a suspicion crept into Hermione’s brain “—You two wouldn’t happen to be responsible for _this_ would you?” She handed the revolting paper over to the twin on her right, or more accurately, hit him in the chest with it before reaching forward and grabbing her tea, staring down at what little contents were left. She swirled the liquid, watching the tea leaves dance about the cup before sinking to the bottom. I wonder if that batty Trelawney could have predicted this, she mused to herself, finding humor in the ridiculous notion that her old Divination professor could have predicted anything accurately. Divination was a woolly subject.

“Hermione, I can guarantee you that we didn’t do this.” Hermione turned and looked at the twin still staring down at the article. She assessed him scrutinizingly as she placed her cup of tea back on the table in front of her.

“Are you sure? It seems like something you two would do.”

“I swear on George’s life,” he pledged, raising his right hand as he stated the words sincerely.

“You _are_ George,” Hermione rolled her eyes and noticed a flash of annoyance on George’s face.

“Well, exactly. I’m swearing on my own life. Can’t really beat that!”

“Oi!—" Fred spoke up from Hermione’s left and reached across her to grab the newspaper “—You two going to let me in on what we allegedly didn’t do or are you going to keep me sitting here like a twat?”

Fred laid the paper in front of him, smoothing it out with his hand and leaning in to have a closer look. Hermione’s stomach dropped as her eyes fell on the moving picture of Harry and her hugging and then jumping apart at the flash of a camera. She laid her head down on the table, hiding her face in the crook of her folded arms, feeling uncommonly embarrassed. She couldn’t stand to watch Fred’s face as he read the lies that Rita Skeeter once again wrote for the entirety of the wizarding world to see.

“What are you reading Fred?” Hermione heard Angelina Johnson ask. Hermione tensed. Suddenly the urge to sit up and tear the paper away from Fred and Angelina was overwhelming. But she reasoned that everyone would read it, or at least hear about it, eventually. So, what was the point? That didn’t mean she had to be happy about it though.

“Oh my! That’s awful!” exclaimed Angelina, making Hermione perk up. If Angelina found Skeeter’s article to be just as ghastly, perhaps she shouldn’t be so worried.

“I can’t believe Granger is doing that to poor Harry and Viktor!”

In that moment, any feelings Hermione had, that even resembled positive, dissolved into nonexistence. Hair crackling with electricity as it grew twice its size, Hermione lifted her head from her arms and bit harshly, “Are you really idiotic enough to believe everything you read, Johnson?”

Angelina’s eyes grew wide as Hermione glared at her. Clearly, she had not known Hermione was sitting there.

“Oh, Granger, I didn’t—well I mean I thought—" Angelina stumbled.

“Thought? I didn’t know you were capable of it,” Hermione cut her off harshly. She knew the words were harsh the moment they left her mouth. That didn’t keep her from saying them though. If Angelina was allowed to have a bad opinion on her and say it in front of her, then Hermione was certainly allowed to same liberties.

Angelina’s mouth hung open in shock. She blinked rapidly before scrunching up her face in anger and spitting vitriol right back, “Well at least I’m not trying to date every boy in the school like a little slag.” Hermione’s hand twitched towards her wand, currently sitting in her lap, but before she could reach for it, fingers wrapped around her wrist under the table. She shifted her glare from Angelina to Fred, feeling betrayed at his stopping her. He was the first to cheer on any kind of fight or confrontation and he chose that moment to grow a sense of propriety? Some friend he was. Fred didn’t meet her eyes. Instead he continued to face forward, looking down at the article in front of him – acting like he wasn’t currently keeping her from hexing the daylights out of his stupid girlfriend

“Ladies, ladies!” George piped up, “Let’s calm it down, eh? We’re all friends here. No need to get worked up over a silly article in the Daily Prophet.”

“Well if we can’t trust the Daily Prophet, then what can we trust? Right Fred?” Angelina asked, looking towards Fred now and placing a hand on his upper arm. Hermione’s hand flexed in her lanky ginger friend’s hold. He tightened his grip, squeezing her wrist firmly in warning, before letting it go.

“Honestly? This lady sounds like an absolute nutter,” Fred stated matter-of-factly. He crumpled the newspaper resolutely and threw it over his shoulder onto the floor. His tone was firmer than Hermione had ever heard it – very similar to the few occasions she had seen Mr. Weasley cross. It had an underlying statement of finality and so everyone grew quiet. The spat was over, but Hermione could still feel Angelina’s scowl trained on her. It set her teeth on edge. Hermione rubbed her wrist, the skin feeling tingly and oddly empty where Fred had held her captive. Unsure of what to do, she reached into her bag, pulled out her Transfiguration textbook, and began going over the material they would cover in class that morning for the second time. She scanned the pages but found it difficult to focus with the thick and heavy tension that floated around them as everyone silently ate their breakfast.

Then, ever so unceremoniously, the silence was broken.

“So, you’re still dating Harry then?’ Ginny asked, confusion evident in her voice.

Hermione threw her book down on the table in exasperation. “Ginevra, Harry and I are NOT—” she stopped when she saw the wicked smirk on the youngest Weasley’s face. Hermione pursed her lips, fighting the smile that threatened to break through. But Fred and George’s snickering and Ginny’s mischievous wide eyes broke her resolve and Hermione begrudgingly smirked. Leave it to Ginny to make a calculated statement to break the tension.

These Weasleys are going to be the death of me, she thought to herself as she chuckled and shook her head.

At that moment, she spotted Ron and Harry walking into the Great Hall later than usual – both of them dragging their feet looking tired and entirely unamused to be awake. That’s what they get for waiting till the last minute to do their studies, Hermione mused knowing full well that the two of them had still been hard at work in the common room when she left for bed at eleven. She watched as students from the Gryffindor table and even a few from the surrounding houses stared at Harry in awe. Some even shouted out a ‘good morning’ to him as he took his seat opposite her. Yes, it seemed as though Harry’s reputation had changed overnight. No longer was he Harry Potter the cheat. Instead he was Harry Potter the champion. It had been almost two weeks since the first task and still Hermione couldn’t believe that the students who had once scorned him and spoken words of ill favor were now trying to become his new best friend. Even in her own room he was the hottest topic of gossip. Her roommates cooed and giggled over him as they stared at his picture in the Daily Prophet over and over again. It had gotten especially bad after she told them that she was not, nor had she ever been involved with him – no matter what Skeeter wrote in her stupid column.

_“He does have a certain devil-may-care thing to him, don’t you think?” said Lavender, lying on her stomach and looking down at Harry’s picture plastered on the front page of an old Daily Prophet. Hermione really wished she hadn’t given it to them when they’d asked to borrow it. She had been under the impression they wanted to brush up on their current events – not ogle her best friend._

_“I think he looks mysterious. Like one of those wizards in the books my mum buys,” said Pavarti, turning her head to look at Harry from a new angle._

_Hermione snorted, knowing perfectly well that the only mysterious thing about Harry was whether or not he’d decided to change his socks that day._

_“What?” asked Pavarti, insulted by Hermione’s rude reaction._

_“Nothing, nothing. You’re right. I’m sure Harry has many…mysterious qualities.”_

_“I think he looks sweet.”_

_Hermione looked over to her roommate Fay with disappointment. Now she fancied Harry, too?_

_“He does—” Fay doubled down “—he always seems so nice in class and he’s a very good seeker!”_

_“Fay has a crush on Harry,” said Emmy in a sing-song voice. Fay stuck her tongue out at her ginger friend, only making Emmy giggle._

_“Speaking of crushes—” Lavender sat up, folding the paper in front of her closed “—how are things going with Ron?”_

_“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermione sighed. “I took your advice, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Perhaps he just doesn’t see me as anything more than a friend.” Hermione was surprised by the fact that when she said the words, it didn’t sadden her as much as she thought it would. Ron was a good friend. Would it be so bad if they just remained friends?_

_“Ugh, boys are so stupid! It’s almost like you have to walk in front of them bloody_ naked _to get their attention,” cried Lavender._

_“Surely you wouldn’t do that, Lavender,” said Hermione aghast._

_Lavender rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t be so droll Granger. I’m_ joking _!”_

_“Perhaps he’s not making a move because you spend all your time with his older brothers,” said Emmy casually._

_“Oi, aren’t we feeling cheeky today,” commented Fay, giving her best friend an amused look._

_“I’m just saying! She’s always with them. Maybe he thinks she likes one of them.”_

_Emmy’s comment made Hermione pause. She did have a point. Did Ron see her friendship with Fred and George as something else? It was a possibility. He was quite prone to making assumptions._

_“It’s a possibility, but why would he think that when I kissed him?”_

_“WHAT?!” cried all four of the girls, sitting up fully and looking at Hermione with wild eyes. Hermione paused again, realizing that she had in fact spoken her wonderings aloud._

_“You kissed Ron Weasley?!” asked Lavender, crawling off her bed and jumping onto Hermione’s._

_“Well, yes but—”_

_“What was it like?” asked Pavarti, sitting down on Hermione’s bed as well in rapt attention._

_Even Fay and Emmy had drifted from their beds to stand closer and get the story._

_“Was he good?” questioned Lavender._

_“I don’t know!” yelled Hermione, flustered and overwhelmed._

_“How do you not know?” Pavarti looked at her strangely, tilting her head to the side._

_“We didn’t kiss so much as_ I _kissed_ him _on the cheek.”_

_The four girls pulled back, relaxing in disappointment._

_“That’s all?” asked Lavender in exasperation._

_“Don’t listen to her, Hermione. Lavender talks a big game, but she’s never even hugged a boy,” snickered Pavarti._

_Lavender’s jaw dropped in betrayal and she lunged playfully for her friend. Pavarti laughed, darting off Hermione’s bed and running from a fuming Lavender Brown._

_“I think it’s sweet,” said Emmy, sitting back down at the end of her bed and pulling out a herbology book. “Perhaps your kiss enamored him so much that he simply can’t help but act extra normal when he’s around you.”_

_“What a romantic this one is.” Fay rolled her eyes in good humor before pausing for a moment in deep contemplation. “Do you think Harry’s a good kisser?”_

It was at that point that Hermione blocked the conversation out. The last thing she wanted was to discuss Harry’s potential kissing prowess.

Speaking of girls with crushes, Hermione thought as Ginny clammed up the moment Harry sat down. After four years, Ginny still had the biggest crush on Harry. She tried to play it cool, but most of those close to her knew that she still thought the world of him. Unfortunately, however, he only had eyes for Cho Chang at the moment. Or at least, that’s what Hermione suspected, from the stupid look he got on his face every time he looked at her.

“What are we talking about?” Ron asked beginning to load his plate with a pile of eggs, potatoes, and sausages.

“Hermione’s new boyfriend,” piped up Ginny, ignoring Hermione’s glare.

“Boyfriend?!—" Ron looked up from loading his plate with food “—When could you possibly have time to get a boyfriend? You spend all your time with either Harry and me or those two prats!” He pointed to his two older brothers sitting beside her, eliciting a cry of protest from both of them.

Well that ruled out Ron thinking she fancied Fred or George, Hermione thought.

“Now brother, what makes you think she’s not dating one of us?” George swung the heavy weight of his arm over Hermione’s shoulder.

“Yeah, we’re handsome chaps,” Fred chimed in.

Hermione shrugged off George’s arm and rolled her eyes as Ron glared at him.

“No, Ronald,” Hermione stated clearly. “It’s just Rita Skeeter. She’s written another article about my love life and it’s complete rubbish.” She sniffed and picked up her textbook again.

“Really? Are you cheating on me now?” Harry asked, his voice filled with mild amusement as he poured himself some pumpkin juice.

“It would seem so,” Hermione admitted casually, never looking up from her book, an apathetic expression glued to her face.

“Well I’m hurt, what am I going to tell the family? My aunt and uncle were so looking forward to meeting you,” said Harry, not a trace of sadness or despair in his voice.

“Of course, they were. I’m fantastic,” Hermione stated, smiling down at her book.

“Are you sure you two aren’t dating?” Ginny asked now, looking suspiciously between Harry and Hermione.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ron scoffed, stabbing a sausage with his fork. Ron’s statement irked Hermione. Sure, Harry and her weren’t involved, but was it really so ridiculous? Was she not desirable enough to date Harry Potter if she wanted to? Still, Hermione decided to let it be. She had had enough arguments for one morning.

“Ron’s right. Harry is like a brother to me. You know, like Fred and George. Right Harry?” she looked to her best friend to back her up and was met with a mumbled ‘Absolutely’ and an enthusiastic head nod.

“What?” George gasped. “You mean you’re not secretly in love with me, Granger?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous George.” Hermione rolled her eyes and returned to her book, noticing that the general atmosphere of the table had turned around quite nicely. Angelina was no longer grimacing at her over Fred’s shoulder – instead, she was engaged in a conversation with him, Lee Jordan, and Katie Bell. Harry and Ron began to discuss their Defense Against the Dark Arts class that afternoon and what Mad-Eye might have in store for them. Ginny listened quietly, curious as to what the older class was learning at the moment compared to the third years. George had continued on a rant about why he thought Hermione should at least consider him as a potential boyfriend as he was just _so_ handsome, while she tried to focus on her book. She was just about to tell him off for distracting her when Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas approached them.

“Hey, you lot,” Seamus greeted them. “Did you see the notice posted in the common room about the meeting tonight?”

“The one for fourth years and up?” Harry asked.

“What about it?” questioned Fred and George.

“Well I’ve been going around all morning, trying to figure out what it’s about but no one seems to know,” Seamus informed them, scratching the back of his head. “Thought one of yous might know.”

“Haven’t heard a thing, mate,” said Ron, taking a large bite of toast.

“Yeah, no clue,” confirmed Harry.

“We assumed everyone was in trouble for something,” said Fred and George.

Ginny laughed, “Just because you two are always in trouble, doesn’t mean that the entirety of the school is.”

“Not the entirety of the school, little sister,” said George.

“Just fourth years and up,” added Fred cheekily.

Hermione scoffed. Honestly, didn’t these people read… _ever?_ “Maybe it has something to do with the Ball,” she said, never lifting her head up from her book.

“The what?” asked Ron, dropping his toast back down onto his plate.

“You know, the Yule Ball? It’s a tournament tradition?” She looked up now, seeing confused faces at the table around her. “In the past, every year the Triwizard Tournament was held, the hosting school was expected to hold a ball on the evening of the Yule. It was used as an opportunity for intraschool interaction and bonding – a celebration to get to know one another and also honor the champions. Did none of you know about this?”

They all shook their heads.

“Well, I’m sure it’s that. What else could it be?” Hermione shrugged, looking at the watch on her wrist. “Class starts soon. We should go,” she said to Harry and Ron. The pair nodded, taking a few last bites of their breakfast as Hermione tucked her book back in her bag and stood. Just as she began to turn to head out of the Great Hall, a hand caught her wrist once again that morning. Looking back at her outstretch arm, she saw Fred holding firmly to her.

“Have you figured out…you know what…yet?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

Hermione leaned down towards Fred, keeping the conversation just between the two of them. The Weasley twins were quite secretive when it came to their product development – for several understandable reasons. For one, they didn’t want any other budding jokesters stealing their ideas, and two, they didn’t want a nosy snitch to figure out what they were doing with their free time and try to get them in trouble.

“No, I’m still working on it,” Hermione whispered back before pulling her arm out of Fred’s grasp. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Fred agreed, his hand hovering in the air where he arm had been.

Hermione turned, exiting the Great Hall with Harry and Ron in tow.

“What was that about?” asked Ron, catching up to her side as they made their way to the Transfiguration classroom.

“Oh, I’ve been helping Fred and George with their studies. He was asking me about an essay he’s working on,” lied Hermione. There really was no need to lie. Fred and George were perfectly fine with everyone knowing she was helping them with their experiments. Hermione felt differently, however. As much as she found working on their inventions to be fascinating and challenging, the last thing she wanted was her name associated to any trouble they got up to. She had a reputation to uphold after all. She couldn’t possibly let mindless troublemaking besmirch her name and future career prospects.

Ron laughed through his nose, letting out an obnoxious snort. “Seriously?”

“What?” asked Hermione in defense.

“Fred and George have never cared about their classes before. I think I’ve seen them pick up a book maybe…once in fourteen years.”

“Honestly, Ronald, that can’t be true,” said Hermione, knowing it was most likely completely true.

“But still, it doesn’t make any sense. Why—”

“How am I supposed to understand the innerworkings of Fred and George Weasley’s minds, Ronald? How is anyone?” said Hermione, cutting Ron off and entering Professor McGonagall’s classroom.

Ron didn’t ask anymore questions that morning, much to Hermione’s relief. This allowed her to sit through the entirety of their Transfiguration lesson with uninterrupted focus. That is until the end of the lesson when Ron looked at her in confusion as they exited the classroom.

“Hermione, is your wrist alright?”

“What?” asked Hermione in puzzlement.

“Your wrist. You’ve been holding it since we left breakfast.”

“Oh—” Hermione looked down and sure enough, she was cradling it in her opposite hand, absentmindedly rubbing at the exposed skin with her thumb. She dropped her arm to her side. “—I didn’t realize…yeah, I’m fine. I’m going to the library. I need to pick up a book for my arithmancy class. I’ll see you in Defense?”

“Yeah, see you later Hermione,” said Ron, still staring at her peculiarly.

“See ya Hermione,” waved Harry, pulling Ron towards the Great Hall for lunch.

Hermione made her way to the library, once again bringing her left wrist up in front of her, now that she was under the safety of seclusion. She hadn’t even realized she’d been cradling the limb all throughout class. Rolling her hand this way and that, she stretched and worked the joint of her wrist, searching for any ghostly pain to explain her actions, but found nothing. So why had she been holding it? Reaching the library, she brushed it off as a silly occurrence and headed to the stacks to try and find the book she needed for her class. She spotted the book on a high up shelf, _An Extensive Look on the Origins of Numerology. _Reaching up, she lifted onto her tiptoes to take the book, her fingers barely brushing the spine. But before she could grab it, a hand appeared in front of her, pulling the book from the shelf and out of her reach.

“Hey! That’s my—” Hermione stopped short when she turned to see Viktor Krum standing before her, holding the book out to her. She took it from him, clutching the book close to her chest and looking around them. “Thank you,” she mumbled politely, bringing her lower lip between her teeth to nibble on it nervously.

“You are very velcome, боец,” responded Krum, bowing slightly, and smiling down at her. He continued to smile at her, not saying anything – just standing there – for quite some time. What did he want? Hermione wondered. Was he waiting for something? Some kind of payment? Was there some Bulgarian custom she was unaware of when it came to being handed a book?

Eventually when Hermione could no longer take the awkward silence, she cleared her throat. “Right, well, thank you again. I should be…” She pointed behind her, indicating her departure from the library before turning and walking away.

“Do you come here often?” asked Krum from her side. His long legs matched her stride as she walked towards the front desk of the library.

“To the library? At my own school?” questioned Hermione in confusion.

Krum nodded.

Hermione smiled in amusement. What an odd question. “Yes, I suppose I do come here quite often. I very much like books.”

“Vhat is your favorite?”

“My favorite book?” Why did Viktor Krum care what her favorite book was? wondered Hermione, brushing a curl out of her face. “My…well that’s a bit of a difficult question…I suppose it would have to be _Hogwarts, A History_. It has so much useful information about the history of the school and all the wonderful ways in which it operates. Not a lot of people read it though, which I think is a shame. I think everyone should read it. It’s very so important and quite fun to read. But then again, I know not everyone likes to read as much as I do. Or at least that’s what they tell me—”

“You are very smart, I am thinking, боец.”

“What does that mean?”

“Vhat?”

“That word – boets? You keep saying it.”

“боец. That is you. It means fighter in my language. I did not get your name and so I call you that,” stated Krum plainly.

Hermione was very flattered; never had she been referred to as a fighter. But she still couldn’t help but let out a small guffaw. “That’s me? I don’t know about that. Unless I was throwing a very heavy book at them, I’m not sure I could fight anyone off.”

“No, you are strong. I know these things.”

“Alright…”

They stood in front of Madame Pince’s desk. The matronly librarian was nowhere to be seen, and Hermione was beginning to grow antsy. Krum still remained at her side, staring at her as she waited for Madame Pince so she could check out her book and be on her way. What did he want? Was he trying to get information on Harry? Trying to figure out if Harry had solved the egg yet? Well if that were true, he would have asked about Harry by now. Wouldn’t he have? Still, what else could it—Fred and George’s words popped into her head, making heat rise to her cheeks. Krum couldn’t possibly…

“I vas thinking. Perhaps I could study vith you some time?”

Hermione dropped the heavy book that was in her arms, the tome slipping from her fingers as if it had turned to liquid. She gasped, body twitching and arms extending to catch the falling object before it landed on their feet, but before she knew it Krum had ducked down and caught it. He held it smugly, smirking at Hermione’s open mouth as she gaped at his reflexes.

“I…” began Hermione, unable to form words through her shock. Had Viktor Krum just asked to spend time with her?

“How can I help you two?” Madame Pince’s shrill voice rang through the dusty cobwebs of Hermione’s brain. She turned to find the severe woman staring down at her in mild annoyance.

“She vas vanting to check out this book—” Krum placed the book down on the desk before turning to Hermione with a polite yet slightly wounded expression “—I should be going.”

Hermione watched as he bowed curtly and stepped past her, headed towards the exit of the library. She bit the inside of her lower lip again, conflicting emotions battling inside her brain and across her face as she watched him get further away. He was nearly to the large double doors when Hermione called out to him.

“Wait!”

Madame Pince shot her a warning look. Hermione smiled apologetically before rushing towards Krum who had halted at her voice. She stopped when she stood before him, His tall, hulking figure hovering over her as he looked down at her. His thick dark brows lifted in surprise.

“I’ll be here tomorrow during first break, working on my homework. If you wanted to join me, I guess that would be alright,” said Hermione shyly.

The smile Krum gave her was an answer in itself – his dazzling white teeth coming into full view as his broad features lit up in delight.

Then, with another bow, he offered an uttering of, “Until then, боец” and he was gone.

* * *

Fred watched as Hermione exited the Great Hall, followed by Harry and Ron. Chewing on the side of his thumb, he braced his elbows against the table and began to think. Finally done with the development stage of their Canary Creams, their first test of the product was both an accident and a failure. Later in the evening of Harry’s post-task celebration, Fred and George had decided it would be a fantastic idea to try and trick Hermione into eating one of the creams disguised as a raspberry tart. Unfortunately, they had gotten the sweets mixed up and Neville Longbottom had gotten ahold of the real Canary Cream. And while Neville had successfully transformed into a human-sized bright yellow canary, it was for much longer than all three of them expected. In fact, Neville spent the better half of the night squawking and pecking around the common room before he, George, and Hermione were finally able to reverse the effects. Once they stopped laughing of course. Neville emerged back into his human form, red-faced and with a short-lasting tick of pecking at things with his face when he went to pick them up. Watching the unfortunate sight, the three of them all agreed that some major revision needed to be done. So, they had set Hermione to the task.

“Come on Georgie. Time for potions!” declared Fred, standing up.

George groaned. “I hate morning potions. Can’t we just skive off class? I’m sure Towler would give us his notes if we ask nicely.”

“After I put itching powder in his trousers last week? Again? That’s likely.”

“Alright, then Lee or Angelina. I’m sure one of them would give us their notes.”

“I’m sure they would, but who would make our potion for us, brother?” asked Fred, slapping a hand to George’s shoulder, and gripping it tightly.

“Since when do you care about missing marks in potions?” asked George, looking at his brother incredulously.

“I don’t –” Fred scratched the back of his head “—I just don’t think…” he trailed off realizing what he was about to say and fell short before he could.

However, it didn’t matter as George finished the sentence for him, “You don’t think that Granger would be too pleased to hear we’ve been skipping classes?”

Fred chuckled in exasperation, “Do _you_ want to deal with that headache?”

“Oh, so now you’re afraid of a fourth-year girl?”

“You’re telling me you aren’t?”

“I think Granger’s turning you soft. You know, turning you into a little swot just like her.”

“I am _not_ getting soft. I’m simply trying to save myself a lecture. Now – let’s go before I put itching powder in _your_ trousers. We’ll have plenty of time to set off Dungbombs in Filch’s office at lunch.” Fred rolled his eyes, pulling his brother up from the table and towards the corridor outside of the Great Hall. George laughed, clearly pleased with getting a rise out of his brother. Fred scowled, shaking his head at his brother as he genuinely contemplated sneaking itching powder into George’s wardrobe that night. Hermione Granger making him soft? Absolutely ridiculous. He was not getting soft. He simply didn’t have the will to sit through another lecture from her about why they needed to do better in their courses. It took time out of their more important work – her long-winded lectures did. However, he hated to admit that since Hermione had began forcing them to actually do their assignments his marks had increased ten-fold. Even the professors were beginning to notice – Flitwick giving him an incredulous look when he passed back his latest essay with a perfect score. Still, the idea that he was getting soft was so far out of the realm of possibilities that he wouldn’t waste anymore time humoring it.

Or so he told himself.

Try as he might, the thought followed him throughout the day, distracting him in potions causing him to knock his cauldron off the flame and spill its contents all over himself and George. Then later at lunch when they had snuck off to Filch’s office – a routine procedure at that point – his head was so filled with thoughts of Hermione Granger, he nearly got them caught. By the time dinner was over and the whole of the Gryffindor student body, fourth year and up, was filing into the Transfiguration classroom, Fred had made a decision. He needed to spend less time with Hermione. Clearly, she was getting to him and he very well couldn’t have that.

McGonagall sorted all of the students boy-girl, sending them to opposite sides of the room. The classroom had been cleared of all desks. In their place sat a large phonograph in the center of the room. Fred thought back to what Hermione had said at breakfast about there being a ball. Unsurprisingly, she was right once again.

“Quiet down, quiet down!” called McGonagall, walking over to the phonograph once all the students were present and standing on their respective sides. “Now, as some of you might know, the Yule Ball is fast approaching. This is an event held every year of the Triwizard Tournament as an opportunity for us to…let our hair down. That does not mean—” she shot a pointed look towards Fred and George “—that you will not be upholding the civil manners expected of you as Hogwarts students. It is your responsibility to present our school in a positive manner. Now, with that being said, the most important thing to know about the Yule Ball is that it is at its core – a dance.”

The room erupted into groans and whispers as everyone realized what was going on. Professor McGonagall was about to teach them to ballroom dance. Now while most students saw this as the worst moment of their lives, Fred couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear. This was an excellent opportunity for entertainment.

“Now, can I get a volunteer?” asked McGonagall, looking around the boys’ side of the room. Fred looked away, avoiding her gaze, and then heard the sweetest words leave the mouth of his head of house, “Ron Weasley, please if you would.”

Fred’s attention was immediate; he stared enrapt in pure joy as he watched Professor McGonagall start the phonograph. The ancient contraption sprang to life, pouring out a lilting waltz and the elderly woman stepped up to Ron with her hands outstretched.

“Now, Mr. Weasley if you would please place your hand on my waist.”

Fred nearly doubled over in absolute joy. Both at the words leaving McGonagall’s mouth and the expression on Ron’s face. He was mortified. The room was in shock. And Fred and George were practically purple in the face as they held in their laughter. George was gripping Fred’s shoulder tightly, looking away from the scene – obviously too overwhelmed at the near perfect scenario to continue watching – but Fred kept his eyes glued to his baby brother as he placed his hands on their professor’s waist and began an awkward attempt at a waltz.

“Hey,” whispered Harry, nudging Fred’s arm. Fred wiped the tears of pure delight from his eyes and looked over at Harry. “You’re never gonna’ let him live this down, are you?”

“Never,” said Fred and George, grinning from ear to ear.

“Alright—” Professor McGonagall broke away from a relieved looking Ron “—let’s pair up now. Young men, young ladies, on your feet! Dance is an ancient and respected artform, let’s give it the respect it deserves.”

The room was slow moving to pair up, but eventually people began to find a partner. George made a beeline to Alicia Spinnet, obviously wanting to get a partner before he was stuck with someone he didn’t like. Fred’s gaze swept the room, briefly locking eyes with Hermione. They both paused. For a moment it seemed Hermione would walk towards him, but before he could find out Fred turned away and spotted Angelina. Less time – he was spending less time with Granger, he repeated silently to himself. Walking towards Angelina, he was relieved to see Hermione walking towards Ron.

“Longbottom. Here, why don’t you pair up with Miss Dunbar,” instructed McGonagall as Fred neared her. Hearing his professor pairing people herself, he quickened his pace, hoping to escape the doom of a chosen partner. He was almost out of her reach when he felt a tight grip on his upper arm. “Mr. Weasley, why don’t you pair with Miss Granger.”

“Oh Professor. Are you sure—” Hermione began, caught in their Professor’s other hand.

“Nonsense. Now begin practicing,” said Professor McGonagall, pushing them towards each other and moving towards her next victims.

Fred stared down at Hermione, his palms beginning to sweat as she stared back up at him. Scratching the back of his head, Fred cleared his throat, “Well, I guess we should…” He extended his arms to her, indicating they should probably start dancing.

Hermione hesitated before nodding and stepping towards him, placing her right hand in his left and bringing her left to lay gently on his shoulder. Fred listened to the music, finding the tempo, and waiting for a lead in before he began the familiar steps. Hermione’s face contorted into shock as they began to move, Fred easily guiding her around the room.

“How—” Hermione let out a small laugh of surprise “—how in the world do you know how to dance?”

“Surprised are you, Granger?” asked Fred, unable to help the smile that spread across his face. It wasn’t every day he was able to shock Hermione Granger.

“Not to be rude, but yes. I’m very surprised. You’re actually quite…good,” said Hermione incredulously.

Fred chuckled, looking down at Hermione as she moved with him. And there it was – the clenching, flipping, somersaulting feeling in his stomach once again. Only this time it was different. Less heavy; lighter. Instead of an impending doom type of feeling, it felt as though something was trapped inside of him, trying to dig its way out. He concentrated on the expanse of freckles on Hermione’s nose and cheeks as he spoke, “My mum insisted that all her boys learn to dance. One of the last few traditions she kept from her pureblood upbringings, I suppose.”

“Really? So, all of you know how to dance?” asked Hermione with an amused smile.

Fred glanced around the room, spotting George dancing effortlessly with Alicia not too far away and then Ron, who ironically had been paired with Angelina. Unfortunately, they seemed to be doing a lot of stepping on each other’s feet than dancing. Fred and Hermione both grimaced at the sight.

“Well, maybe not all of us. No amount of practice can make up for lack of talent I guess,” said Fred, turning back to Hermione. “Which by the way, you have a lot of.”

“Oh goodness. I don’t know about that,” blushed Hermione, the skin beneath her freckles turning a soft pinkish hue. Fred felt the fluttering in his stomach return.

“Now don’t be modest with me. You’re practically floating across this dancefloor Miss Granger,” he murmured, leaning in close so no prying ears could hear him embarrassing her. He really did savor the moments he could successfully tease her, but he also knew how much she hated for others to see her flustered.

Hermione seemed to tremble in his arms, a feeling that went straight to Fred’s spine. He felt his heartrate increase and tongue grow heavy in his mouth. He pulled her closer to him on instinct, holding her firmly in his arms. The curve of her waist and the slightness of her figure surprised him. It was almost as if a girl’s body lived beneath the large baggy school uniform she so often wore.

“I have a good partner,” said Hermione softly, her voice barely audible over the music.

“A good lead is nothing without a good follow, my father always says. It’s like a musician without his instrument. Talented, but unable to make sweet, sweet music.” The words fell from his mouth foreign and strange. He didn’t usually say things like that – especially to people like his little brother’s best friend. In fact, he really only recalled speaking to Angelina like that when he playfully flirted with her. Merlin’s beard, thought Fred, was he flirting with her? Why on earth was he flirting with Hermione Granger? Hermione Granger, his little brother’s best friend. His little brother’s crush. One of _his_ close friends. Barely an hour ago he was swearing up and down to himself that he needed to put space between them and now he was flirting with her.

Hermione grew very quiet at his words, altering between looking up at him and their feet, but Fred didn’t miss the subtle way in which her hand moved in his – her fingers gripping his hand tighter. He also noticed the way she adjusted her hold on his shoulder – gripping at the material of his sweater. Fred tightened his grip as well, keeping the triple time as he spun them through the other couples dancing stiffly. The lull in their conversation allowed Fred to take some time to stare down at the girl in his arms. Why would he be flirting with Hermione Granger, indeed…He already knew he liked her nose – the pixie-like way in which it sat on her face, but it also led to a pair of full pink lips that he had never thought to take the time to look at before. They sat above a soft heart-shaped jaw. A soft cupid’s bow lined her top lip, sitting over teeth that…weren’t bucked like they used to be. In fact, they were normal sized. When had that happened? wondered Fred casually, before his eyes traveled further down to her bottom lip. The rose-hued skin sat plump and tempting. He wondered for a second what it would be like to taste them and was reminded of the only other time he’d been distracted by Hermione Granger’s mouth. Right after he gifted her the box of sugar quills; the way her lips wrapped around the candy ever so suggestively. She didn’t even know it. Would she taste sweet like sugar? Shaking the inappropriate thoughts from his mind, his eyes traveled up, only to lock with a pair the color of Firewhisky.

The swirling specks of brown, auburn, and gold mesmerized him and for a second, he entertained the thought that Hermione might feel the same way. But then she looked away, her focusing drifting across the room. Fred followed her stare and found Ron and Angelina looking over at them with odd expressions on their faces.

“I ran into Viktor Krum in the library today,” said Hermione.

The words caught Fred off guard. Looking back down at Hermione, he found her looking up at him expectantly.

“Is that so?” Fred asked, making his voice sound light and amused.

“Yes. It was very…odd.”

“Odd how?”

“Well he asked if he could study with me.”

“You mean he asked you out on a date,” said Fred, his stomach clenching again, but this time in the sinking sort of way.

“No. He asked me if we could study together,” responded Hermione, her brow scrunching in confusion.

“As a date.”

“I wouldn’t really call studying a date.”

“What would you call a date then?” asked Fred, surprised that he was actually quite curious for the answer.

Hermione paused, seeming to contemplate his question before answering, “Well I guess I always imagined my first date would start with getting tea or something, and then going to a bookstore and browsing the shelves—”

Fred snorted. Of course, she’d want to go to a bookstore.

“—then we’d sit outside and talk and maybe we could do something they like. But that part would depend on the other person, I suppose.”

“So, your ideal date isn’t studying, but it does involve books,” said Fred, a teasing smile slipping onto his face.

Hermione smiled back wryly. “Well after all, I am an insufferable swot.”

“Swot? Yes. Insufferable? No,” said Fred honestly.

“Well, either way. Studying in the library during a morning break is far from a date. I’m sure he’s just hoping to pick my brain to help him with his egg,” said Hermione with a bitter edge to her voice.

“What makes you think he’s not interested in you and not just your brain?” asked Fred, surprised to see this side of her. She was always so sure of herself. Sure, she’d shown him moments of weakness and he to her as well, but there was always no denying that Hermione Granger knew exactly who she was and was perfectly content with it.

“Don’t be silly Fred. Why would anyone be interested in me? Biggest swot known to wizarding kind, remember? A big know-it-all with even bigger hair,” she laughed, although it sounded forced to Fred who had become quite familiar with Hermione’s laugh over the past few months.

Fred was unsure how to respond to Hermione’s words. So instead he pulled her into a couple of spins that made her smile in delight. He watched as her frizzy brown curls glowed in the soft lamplight of the room as the song began to wind to an end. He extended his right leg out, placing his weight on the limb as he leaned low, balancing Hermione as he dropped her into a gentle dip. She laughed, genuinely this time, throwing her head back as she did so. Fred’s eyes followed the long curve of the Hermione’s neck before reaching her face. Hermione seemed to glow from the inside out and as he pulled her back up, the song came to an end. Once standing, Fred found it hard to pull his eyes away from Hermione’s face. The combination of the flipping sensation in his stomach, the sweat on his palms, and the increase of the beating of his heart made Fred come to a sickening realization.

He was wholly and completely attracted to Hermione Granger.


	12. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Yule Ball has been announced and Fred Weasley had made the sinking realization that he's completely and utterly attracted to Hermione Granger. But is he the only one with seemingly unrequited feelings? 
> 
> So many questions and yet the biggest one of all: Who is taking Hermione Granger to the ball?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SO SO SORRY THIS WAS LATE! The week got away from me and before I knew it, it was Sunday and I hadn't written ANYTHING. So, I ended up writing this entire chapter in one day and fell asleep editing it. I hope you guys like this chapter as much as I do! 
> 
> I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST) (except for this time...ha ha ha...)!
> 
> Please, please, please feel free to leave kudos and comments. I love hearing people's thoughts and opinions on the story!
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_December come to me_   
_I hope I can see_   
_You not just in dreams_

_I will let you be_   
_Why can't you believe_   
_How much you really mean_

* * *

Hermione sat in the library, feeling more on edge than she ever had in her life. Krum was due to meet her at any moment and all she could think about was…her face heated just thinking about it. She’d had the dream again. No, not her nightmare. Her nights of fear inducing dreams were long gone ever since she started spending most of her days with the twins. No, she had had the _dream_ again. The one that left her stomach in heated knots and raised her pulse to a terrifying level. While the dream started the same as last time – the library, the couple, the hands on her body and lips kissing up her neck – this time, when she turned to catch a glimpse of the fiery red hair, the world spun around her. It spun and spun until she realized the world wasn’t spinning at all – she was. She was dancing, turning circles in space as the same pair of hands held her close. Her mind fought tooth and nail to catch a glimpse of the mystery man, but it was as if her spine was fused – unable to look anywhere but straight ahead. Who was it and why did they turn her hot and feverish? Why did she melt at just the thought of their embrace?

When she awoke that morning, sweaty and out of breath, she couldn’t ignore the thrumming of her heart at the apex of her thighs. Shifting in her seat, she tried to quell the achy feeling starting to rise just from the brief memory of her subconscious escapades. Fully expecting to become a jumbled mess of embarrassment and arousal, she was nervous to see Ron in History of Magic that morning. However, much to her pleasure and confusion, when she saw him, she felt nothing more than a slight heat on her face which she attributed to nerves over how she might feel, rather than a true reaction due to her dream. Perhaps her ability to compose herself was better than she thought. The possibility quelled her racing mind, but she couldn’t ignore the small nagging voice in the back of her head that said she knew more than one person with red hair.

“Hello, боец, you are vell, yes?” Krum’s voice broke Hermione from her thoughts. She jumped, dropping the heavy book in her hands onto the parchment covered table with a muffled thud.

“Viktor hello. Yes, I’m doing quite well,” greeted Hermione breathlessly. “I can call you Viktor, correct?”

“You can call me vhatever you vant, боец,” said Viktor, giving her a reserved smile that Hermione found to be quite charming.

“Ah, yes. Well, I suppose if we’re going to be studying together, I should probably introduce myself properly—” she extended a hand to him “—Hello Viktor, my name is Hermione Granger. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Hermy-own?” said Viktor with great difficulty as he shook her hand. His full lips twisted and stumbled over the vowels and consonants.

Hermione laughed nervously. “No, no. Hermione. Like this: Her-my-oh-nee,” she spoke slowly, sounding out her name bit by bit.

Viktor’s brows scrunched in concentration as he repeated her to the best of his abilities, “Her-my-oh-ninny.”

“Close enough,” sighed Hermione in good nature, gesturing for Viktor to take a seat across from her.

He surprised her by seating himself in the chair next to her with ease. Or at least as much ease as possible for the tall Bulgarian. He was surprisingly uncoordinated for someone who flew with such grace on the quidditch field. The one advantage to seeing Viktor Krum off of his broom, however, was the ability to see just how handsome he was. He had a very pleasing face, with a broad brow, sharp cheekbones, strong nose, and equally strong jawline. Yes, he was really quite handsome, Hermione thought indulgently as she observed him. His black hair was cropped exceedingly short, which Hermione thought was a shame – she quite liked the way longer hair looked on men. Feeling as though she had been staring for much too long, Hermione turned back to her book as Viktor pulled out a notebook, quill, and ink.

“This library – it is much larger than the one at home,” commented Viktor casually.

Hermione looked up from her book again and glanced around at the tall shelves, expansive stone walls, and large tapestries. “Really? What is your school like?” she asked curiously. While she had read everything she could on Durmstrang, she had been left wanting – the Bulgarians were quite secretive.

“Vell, it is a castle much like yours, but it is much smaller. Ve have less students, I am thinking. The library is smaller, but you do not have all the same books here, I have noticed. Ve do not have a, what you call a restricted section,” said Viktor thoughtfully.

“Really?” asked Hermione in surprise.

“Yes. Ve do not view knowledge as good or bad at Durmstrang. Just knowledge.”

“I’ve always thought the same thing,” said Hermione excitedly, mindful to keep her volume low with her increased enthusiasm. She didn’t need to be kicked out of the library a second time that year. “I think knowledge should be accessible to everyone. Sure, some things can be quite vile, but it’s not the magic that makes the witch or wizard bad and a bad person will find the information out one way or another if they really want it. Tell me more about Durmstrang.”

“It gets very cold in the vinters and the fires are only lit for classes and such. So ve vear heavy cloaks to keep us varm. But in the spring and summer, you should see the grounds. Vhile our castle is smaller than yours, the grounds are triple the size! Ve vill fly for hours over the mountains and lakes. It is beautiful,” said Viktor proudly. Hermione tried to imagine a school with grounds triple the size of Hogwarts. She already felt like the space around her school was expansive.

“That sounds lovely,” responded Hermione with a smile.

“Do you fly, Herm-own-ninny?”

“Oh no—” Hermione chuckled bashfully “—I’m quite afraid of heights if I’m being honest. But I love quidditch. I think the sport is so fascinating. The theory and tactics behind it are very interesting and of course the talent it takes to fly the way some players do is very impressive. Like you, for example—”

Viktor raised his dark, thick brows in surprise.

“—I saw you at the world cup, you know. You’re an excellent flyer. Even Harry agreed. He was quite impressed with your…oh what was it…oh! The Wronski Feint. Does that sound right?”

“Yes, yes! That is vone of my favorites. Unfortunately, ve did not vin…” Viktor trailed off, frowning as if the loss of the world cup was still a freshly open wound.

“Yes, but you ended things on your own terms,” said Hermione, remembering Harry’s explanation for Viktor’s catching of the snitch while Ireland was up by 160 points.

Viktor perked up at her comment. “Yes, that’s exactly it! Ve vould not be able to catch up, I knew that. Their chasers vere too good.”

“So, you caught the snitch to end the game with only a loss of ten point, as opposed to three hundred and ten,” concluded Hermione, settling comfortably into her seat. She felt much more relaxed now than she did when Viktor had first sat down.

Viktor smiled at her in appraisal. “That is exactly vhat I did. You are very smart Harmony. Smart and strong.”

Hermione blushed at his compliment, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, and looking down at her textbook shyly. Still, she couldn’t fight off the smile that formed on her face at his praise. They were silent for a moment, both of them turning to their work to fill the time. Afterall, they were there to study.

Hermione was just finishing her chapter when Viktor spoke again, “Have you heard of the ball that is happening at Christmas time?”

Hermione looked up, finding an earnest Viktor staring back at her. “Yes, they announced it formally last night with some unfortunate dance lessons as well. Did you have something similar?”

“No, ve at Durmstrang learn how to dance first and second year. It is expected that ve know how, for formal events vhen ve are older,” said Viktor.

“How fortunate,” said Hermione. “I was lucky enough to have my dad teach me a bit when I was younger. My mum and dad like to play the radio in the kitchen and sometimes on Sunday mornings my dad will pull me away from whatever I’m reading at the table and make me dance with him.” She smiled at the memory, feeling a small pang of homesickness. It was high time she sent her parents a letter – with all her extra time spent with Fred and George her weekly letters home had dissolved into a dismal once or twice a month.

“That sounds very nice,” responded Viktor genuinely before clearing his throat and looking down at his folded hands on the table. “Perhaps you vould like to accompany me to the ball?”

“Pardon?” Hermione pulled out of her innocent musing of home with confusion. Surely, she must have heard him wrong because she could have sworn Viktor Krum just asked _her_ to the Yule Ball.

“The ball – vould you like to go vith me?”

The question hung in the air – Viktor looking expectantly at Hermione as she tried to comprehend it. Viktor Krum wanted to go to the Yule Ball with _her_?

“Why?” The question blurted out before she could stop herself.

Krum blinked in surprise. He took a moment to mull her words before answering, “Vell, I think you are very pretty. You are very smart, and you have the heart of a fighter. Vhy not?”

Hermione was struck – mouth gaping and brain short-circuiting. Viktor Krum thought she was pretty. Out of all the girls in the school to pick, and there were many available girls as the ball was only announced the day before, and he chose her. Answer him you daft airhead, her brain screamed as she still delayed her response.

“Of course, if you already are going with someone then—”

“No, no. I’m not,” Hermione reassured him in a panicky manner.

“Then you are just not interested or…?”

“No—I just…Can I have some time to…think about it or something?”

Krum stared hard at her for a moment, before nodding with a small smile.

“It’s not that I don’t want to go with you—” Hermione sat forward, running her hands through her frizzy curls and pushing them out of her face as she rambled “—it’s just I don’t know you very well. Perhaps we should get to know each other a bit more first. It’s important that we know each other before we decide to go together, otherwise we’d get there and risk finding out that we can’t stand each other. But please don’t think that I’m just delaying an inevitable ‘no’ to be nice. I swear—”

“Of course, Herm-oh-nee. Take all the time you need. Until then, ve vill spend more time together. Yes?”

Hermione was grateful for the interruption of her nervous babbling. Any second longer and she was sure to make such a fool of herself that Viktor might rescind his offer. “Yes, I would like that.”

Viktor stood, collecting his things, and placing them in his bag. Hermione glanced at the large grandfather clock across the study area and noticed it was almost time for Charms. She stood too, placing her book in her bag. Once the two were packed up, they headed towards the exit of the library. It was just outside the large double doors that the two parted ways, headed in opposite directions of the castle for class. Expecting his usual bow of departure, Hermione was surprised when instead Viktor grabbed her right hand in his and brought the back of it up to his lips. She blushed something furious, her face growing hot as embers as his soft lips brushed the sensitive skin. Then he was gone, and she was left to gawk in his direction as a bubbling glee built up in her chest.

The joyous moment was cut short however by her two troublesome shadows.

“My, my, my…was that Viktor Krum?” asked one twin as the two of them rounded the corner.

“You know, you two really must stop spying on me. It’s getting sad and weird,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes and turning away from the two ginger boys as she headed in the direction of her Charms class.

“Excuse you missy. We were not spying. We were merely walking by and decided to stop and watch the show,” said who she now recognized as George.

“Hmmm,” responded Hermione flatly, continuing to walk.

“So, what did Viktor want?” asked George.

“None of your business George Fabian Weasley.”

“I’m wounded—” George held a hand up to his heart “—we simply want to be a part of your life, Hermione. You know, be good friends and all.”

“Sure, you do,” she grumbled.

“I don’t think she believed me. Back me up, Freddie,” said George turning to his brother.

Hermione waited to hear Fred’s familiar sarcastic quip and cheeky tone but was surprised when all he did was give a distracted hum. She turned her head, looking at Fred fully for the first time. Catching his hazel eyes, he looked at her with an indistinguishable expression. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest and the heat that had occupied her face shot south, leaving a burning sensation in her lower stomach. Oh no, thought Hermione quickly looking away from Fred and instead focusing on the grey stone beneath her feet. They reached the Charms classroom a moment later, much to her relief. She made to head into the room, but a long arm extended in front of her, blocking her path.

“I have class. Can’t you just save your routine till tonight? I’ll laugh and everything,” promised Hermione, trying her best to keep her voice light and not show the inner turmoil she was currently experiencing.

“About that – change of plans.”

“What? Are we not meeting at the usual place?”

“No, Fred and I have a bit of a surprise for you—” George looked to his twin with a pointed stare “—isn’t that right Freddie?”

Fred, who had been staring off down the hall, turned to his brother and nodded distractedly. If Hermione hadn’t been trying so desperately to get away from Frederick Weasley and into the safety of her classroom, she would have noted his odd behavior. But instead, she raised a curious brow at George.

“Right—” George stared at his twin with an odd expression before looking back down at Hermione “—meet us in the common room after dinner and make sure to bring Harry and Ron along as well. It’s really a surprise for all three of you.”

“Okay, yeah, we’ll be there,” Hermione said before ducking under George’s arm and disappearing into the classroom. She found Harry and Ron already seated a few rows back from the front and took her chair between the two of them.

“Are you alright, Hermione?” asked Harry as she stared down at the desk in front of her breathing deeply in through her nose.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she squeaked, before taking out her notebook and writing utensils.

It all made sense and simultaneously no sense at all. Fred was the person in her dreams. It explained the dancing certainly. It also explained the timing. The first time she’d had the dream was the night Fred found her in the hallway and walked her back to the tower. He had held her in his arms that night, even held her hand. At the time she thought nothing of it, but clearly her subconscious had been squirreling away those brief moments of contact and saving them to manifest in an entirely different way. No – this was not good. She didn’t like Fred! He was loud and obnoxious and troublesome. He wasted his potential and squandered his talents. Two things she wholeheartedly disagreed with. He pushed her buttons and got her into trouble. How could she possible like him as anything more than a friend?

The rest of the day went by in a blur, all of Hermione’s waking thoughts dedicated to Frederick Weasley in the worst possible way. By the time dinner was over and she found herself in the common room with Harry and Ron, she had come to decision. She did not like Fred. It was simply her subconscious playing a cruel trick on her. Dreams didn’t mean anything anyways – even if they did happen twice. Dreams were simply an amalgamation of your conscious memories and thoughts mixed into an incoherent jumble as your brain tried to process them at night. They weren’t accurate representations of ones waking feelings. They held zero stake in reality.

Unfortunately, that didn’t keep her heart from stopping when Fred and George emerged from the portrait hole with wide grins as they chuckled mischievously.

“What’s got you two so chuffed?” asked Ron, pulling a chocolate frog from his pocket, and opening the package.

“Just ran into Adrian Pucey in the hallway—”

“—struck him with a nasty sticking charm.”

“Won’t be going anyways for a while,” laughed George, leaning on the back of the couch to peer down at the work in Hermione’s hand. She’d dedicated this time in her day to working on the Canary Creams and was still determined to do so, change of plans or not.

“You can’t do that by the way,” stated George casually as he pointed over her shoulder to a bit of Charms work detailed on the page.

“Excuse you,” sneered Hermione, pushing his hand away. “And just why do you say that?” she asked taking offense.

“Because I’m the Charms master, remember?”

Hermione sighed, knowing begrudgingly that George was right. He was very well adept at Charms work – even better than herself. Slamming the notebook shut, she placed it on a side table and stood.

“Well – what’s this surprise then?” she asked digging into her pocket to distract herself from the two tall ginger boys in front of her. Her fingers closed around one of the hundreds of sugar quills Fred gave her and she pulled it out satisfactorily.

“The whole point of a surprise, my dear Hermione—” began George.

“—is to surprise you with it—" continued Fred.

“—not just tell you!” the two finished together before turning and heading back towards the portrait hole. Ron and Harry followed them, Hermione hanging back as she unwrapped the sugar quill and placed it in her mouth. She trailed behind the four of them as they traveled deeper down into the castle.

“Hey,” said Fred, dropping behind to walk beside her as George boldly led the way.

“Hi,” Hermione responded shyly, worrying the candy in her mouth to calm herself.

“Alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“You?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Good.”

Hermione felt stiff and uncomfortable, like at any moment her skeleton would relieve itself from its fleshy prison, shedding her skin and running as fast it could from Fred and this painful conversation. The worst part of it was that she knew why _she_ was being weird, but why on earth was he in such a strange mood? For a brief moment, the mortifying thought that perhaps he knew about the dream, flashed into her head, but she quickly brushed it away. That was impossible. There was no way he could know.

The four of them continued further into the castle, heading down stairway after stairway until they were in its deep underbelly. It was when they found themselves in a large, well-lit corridor – the walls adorned with portraits of food – that Hermione realized where they were headed. Harry seemed to have the same realization as he groaned, turning around the look at her.

“Hermione…this isn’t another S.P.E.W. thing, is it?”

“Please don’t let it be a spew thing, Hermione. How many times have I told you – it’s no use! House elves _like_ to work!” exclaimed Ron.

“First of all, it’s not called _spew—”_

“Oh, what is it now then – the House Elf Liberation Front?” asked Ron sarcastically with a roll of his eyes.

“It’s the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare thank you very much, and secondly in case you didn’t remember, I’m not the one dragging us down here. They are!” She pointed to Fred and George who now held amused grins on their faces.

“Quit your fighting and come on you lot,” laughed George coming to a halt in front of a picture of a large fruit bowl and ticking the green pear. The fruit squirmed and giggled until it turned into a large green door handle. George grabbed hold of the handle and pulled the door open to reveal the cavernous kitchens. Hermione wasn’t quite sure what she imagined the Hogwarts kitchens would look like, but it definitely wasn’t the enormous space in front of her. With ceilings almost as tall as the Great Hall, it seemed to host everything you could even want or need to make a large feast.

“Harry Potter! Oh, it’s _Harry Potter!_ ” a squeaky voice yelled out before Hermione heard Harry let out a guttural yelp. Turning to her best friend she saw Harry standing there with a small house elf nearly wrapped entirely around his middle, holding him tightly.

“Dobby?” Harry gasped in surprise.

“Yes sir! Dobby has been waiting and hoping Harry Potter would visit him and now he has!”

Dobby released Harry, stepping back, and allowing Hermione to get a full view of the infamous house elf Harry had told her so much about. He appeared to live up to his description. Long thin nose and batlike ears. However, instead of the filthy pillowcase Harry had described, he donned the strangest assortment of clothing Hermione had ever seen. Dobby wore what appeared to be a tea cozy adorned with brightly colored badges on his head like a hat, a patterned tie with no shirt, shorts, and mismatched socks. However, despite his strange fashion sense, Hermione found Dobby to be quite appealing. His enthusiastic personality and overwhelming love for Harry was enough to make her fond of the little house elf – no matter how odd he was.

“What are you doing here Dobby?” asked Harry.

“Dobby works here, sir! At Hogwarts! Professor Dumbledore has given Dobby and Winky jobs!” proclaimed the small elf proudly. Hermione perked up at the mention of a second house elf she was familiar with.

“Winky’s here?” she asked looking around her to try and spot the poor disgraced house elf she’d met so many months ago.

“Thought that would interest you, Hermione,” said Fred in a knowing manner. “She’s over there by the fire. But be warned, she’s not in a great mood.”

“Or at least she wasn’t when we were here yesterday,” added George with a grimace.

Rounding the corner, Hermione was greeted with a large crowd of busying house elves. They bowed and greeted her kindly as she passed them, spotting a small and slumped figure on a stool by the fire.

“Winky?” she asked hesitantly.

The little creature turned, looking a complete and utter mess. While dressed unarguably more fashionable than Dobby, in a matching blouse and skirt, her clothes were dirty and wrinkled. One look and Hermione could tell she was a very unhappy house elf. That sentiment was only confirmed when Winky burst into large, hysterical tears.

“Winky, oh Winky, please don’t cry,” pleaded Hermione, rushing forwards and placing a hand on Winky’s shoulder. Winky only cried harder. Unsure of what to do, Hermione stepped to the side, allowing Harry to take the lead. She watched in rapt horror as Winky, Bartemius Crouch’s ex-house elf wailed at her failure as a good, loyal elf. The whole thing was so upsetting. So upsetting, in fact, that by the time they left the kitchens – after Harry promised Dobby about a thousand times that they would visit – she was in a whole new kind of bad mood.

“Cheer up, Hermione. Winky will be alright eventually,” said Ron casually as they strode through the halls back up to Gryffindor tower.

“It’s just absolutely horrid. I can’t believe that anyone has allowed this to go on for so long,” cried Hermione, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Now, now. You’re forgetting that house elves _like_ to work. It’s their way. Their tradition,” said Fred, slinging an arm over her and squeezing her shoulder kindly. A gesture that would usually calm and reassure her, made Hermione jump out of her skin, pulling away from Fred and his touch that filled her with new sensations and confusion.

“Yes, and why is that Frederick? Because they’ve been used as slaves by wizarding kind for so long that they’ve been generationally brainwashed into thinking that working for nothing and being treated horribly is some sort of badge of honor!” she shouted at Fred, all of her conflicting feeling bubbling up into one unanimous feeling of anger.

Fred gawked in surprise before responding with equal annoyance, “Well if they were truly so unhappy, they would say so like Dobby. Clearly, they’re smart enough to think for themselves or Dobby wouldn’t be walking around asking to be paid for his work!”

“But even Dobby said he’s been looking for a job for over a year. No one wants to pay a house elf to do work when they ask for it! Don’t you think there should be laws to help him with that kind of discrimination?”

“Sure, but he’s different! If more elves wanted rights, then there would be a demand. But seeing as it’s ONE house elf out of thousands it doesn’t really make sense that they would rewrite legislature,” scoffed Fred.

“But if there _was_ new legislature then perhaps they’d feel more inclined to break away like Dobby—” Hermione ran a hand over her hair, feeling it already growing ten times its size as her anger increased “—you know what? Clearly you are all either too thick or too heartless to understand.”

Pushing past their group she charged forward, determined to put some space between herself and the lot.

“Hermione!” one of the twins called after her.

“Just let her go. She gets like this, but she always gets over it,” said Ron.

“Hermione!” the twin called again, ignoring Ron’s comment.

Continuing to march ahead of them, she made it as far as the end of the hallway before a pair of arms wrapped around her middle and lifted her into the air. Hermione let out a cry of surprise and then a ragged grunt as her stomach made contact with one of the boys’ shoulders. Sputtering in indignation, she attempted to brush her hair out of her face enough to figure out who had the audacity to pick her up. Finally making a part in the curtain of her curls she saw Ron, Harry, and George laughing as they caught up.

“Frederick Gideon Weasley, you put me down right this instant!” yelled Hermione, pounding her fists on his back,

“You three go on ahead. Miss Granger seems to have her knickers in a horrible twist. Just needs a moment to decompress. We’ll catch up,” said Fred casually as Ron, Harry, and George looked down at her in amusement.

“Are you three really just going to let him do this?” Hermione asked, looking up at them with pleading eyes.

They pondered her request for a moment, before George gave her a sweet smile and bopped her on the end of the nose with his pointer finger. “Yep.”

Ron was next, rubbing a hand on top of her head and messing up her curls. “Good luck, Hermione,” he chuckled before disappeared around Fred.

Harry was last, smiling the widest. “I hate to say it, but he’s right. Sorry, Hermione,” he said giving her a small wave and disappearing as well.

Hermione listened to their fading steps as they turned the corner and left for the tower. Then, Fred began to walk, and Hermione let her head hang once again, tired from the strain of keeping it upright.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” she questioned, feeling all the blood in her body rush to her head.

“Hush now. No talking,” said Fred gripping her legs tighter. Hermione tried not to focus on the way his grip sat dangerously close to the top of her knee-high socks. Instead, she focused on the ground moving below her and the backs of Fred’s shoes as he walked down hallways and corridors. It felt like they’d been walking forever when he finally lifted her off of his shoulder and deposited her down onto the ground. She stumbled, all the blood rushing back to her limbs and making her faint. Fred caught her, grabbing her by the upper arms and keeping her vertical. After a few moments he released his hold, instead reaching up and brushing her messy hair out of her face. He smiled down at her as he did so, making Hermione’s heart stutter as he tucked the pieces behind her ears.

“So…” Fred sighed looking down at her and then to his left, staring hard at the wall. Hermione followed his gaze to see what he was staring at and realized just where Fred had taken them. It was the painting he’d found her at, those few months ago.

“Why…?” she drifted off, confused as to why he had brought her there of all places.

“Well last time I found you here you were upset. I figured it might be a good place to take you. Clearly something’s bothering you—” he brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck nervously “—I’ll just…leave you to it then.”

He made to walk away but before Hermione could stop herself, she called out to him. Fred halted in his tracks and turned back to her. “You can stay…if you’d like,” Hermione said softly, turning away from him and sitting down gently on the cold stone. She heard the shuffling of shoes before she felt Fred take a seat next to her. Hermione stared at the painting with unwavering concentration. Just like last time, the field had metamorphosized into an entirely new vision. While previously it had housed a mixture of many flowers on a bright sunny day, now it showed her nothing but thousands upon thousands of purple lilacs with an overcast sky.

“Viktor Krum asked me to the ball,” Hermione blurted. She didn’t know why she felt the need to tell him. She hadn’t planned on telling anyone – at least not until she made her decision. But something about the moment, the painting, and it being Fred, made her want to tell him more than anything.

Hermione expected him to be surprised. She expected him to look at her incredulously – perhaps call her a liar. Instead he smiled and gave her a look that said: ‘I could have guessed that’ before asking, “Is that what’s got you all in a twist? Worried you made the wrong choice by saying yes?”

“I didn’t say yes.”

That _did_ surprise Fred. “What? You said no then?” he asked, a glint in his eye that if Hermione knew any better, she could have sworn looked something akin to hope.

“No – I told him I’d think about it.”

Fred laughed.

“What?” asked Hermione defensively.

Fred wiped a tear from under his right eye before catching his breath and answering, “Nothing, it’s just…only you would tell an international quidditch player ‘maybe’ when he asks you to a ball.”

“I want to make sure his intentions are right.”

“What? Want to make sure he’s not just trying to get into your knickers?” asked Fred with another laugh.

“More like I want to make sure he _actually_ likes _me_ and isn’t just trying to get to Harry,” admitted Hermione with a whisper. Looking at her hands, she worried the inside of her bottom lip. She felt foolish for her confession, but Fred had the annoying ability to put her at such ease that she blurted out all her worries before she even knew what she was doing.

“Hey—” Fred brought a hand up, grabbing ahold of her chin softly and turning her to face him “—why would you think a silly thing like that?” He smoothed his thumb over her skin, pulling her lip from out between her teeth as he frowned at her.

“I just…why would he like me? I’m nothing special.”

“Nothing special? Hermione Granger, I never want to hear those words come out of your mouth again. Nothing special, she says,” Fred scoffed.

“Well, it’s true! My hair is a ratty nest, I’m skinny and knobby, and plain and freckly—”

“What’s wrong with freckly?” asked Fred accusingly before breaking out into a wry grin.

Hermione laughed. “You know what I mean,” she said, aware now that Fred’s hand had never left her face. Instead it found it’s home cupping the side of her cheek sweetly.

“No. I don’t think I do because…well because when I look at _you_ , Hermione, I don’t see a knobby plain girl with ratty hair.”

“You don’t?” Hermione’s heart leapt into her throat. Suddenly the space between them seemed much too close but not close enough. Fred’s eyes scanned her face, flitting from her forehead to her lips before landing back on her eyes as she waited with bated breath for him to speak again.

“No.”

“What do you see?”

Fred hesitated, swallowing audibly as his sight flitted once again from her eyes to her lips and back up. “I see a beautiful girl with a wild mane and an equally wild fierceness. I see a beautiful girl that any man would be lucky to take to the ball,” said Fred, his voice a low timbre.

Hermione let out a shuddering breath. “What if…” she began, but stopped, unsure of whether to say next what she wanted to.

“Yes?” asked Fred, pushing her on.

“What if…what if I didn’t say yes because I was secretly hoping someone else might ask me?”

* * *

Fred deflated at Hermione’s question. Releasing her face, he dropped his hand and looked off to the painting once again as he sighed. For a brief moment he thought he saw what looked like disappointment on Hermione’s face, but that couldn’t be. Not when she’d just confessed, she said no to Viktor Krum because she hoped Ron would ask her to the ball. Still, it was probably for the best. He was taking Angelina after all – he hadn’t asked her yet of course, but she had made it exceedingly clear after Professor McGonagall’s abysmal dance lesson that she expected them to go together.

_“I was thinking purple,” said Angelina, leaning lazily into Fred’s side as he stared into the fire of the Gryffindor common room._

_“Huh?” he asked dumbly, Angelina’s comment pulling him out of a deep concentration. He’d been thinking about Hermione. He was…always thinking about Hermione._

_“For my dress for the ball. Purple – I like purple. It’s my favorite color, you know?”_

_“I didn’t know. Is it really?” asked Fred, looking down and wrapping an arm around Angelina’s waist._

_“It is. I figured you’d want to know now so you’ll know how to match your dress robes.”_

“I think…” began Fred, speaking slowly and choosing his words carefully. “I think that if you’re holding out for someone else and you’re not 100% sold on Krum, then you should wait.”

“Really?” asked Hermione, looking at him with those wide, Firewhisky brown eyes.

“Yeah, make Krum sweat it out for a bit. I’m sure he isn’t used to having to work for dates – it’ll be good for him. And it’ll give this other bloke some time, maaaybe he has something special planned for you.”

Hermione stared at him speculatively. “You say that as if you already know,” she said with an earnest, vulnerable expression on her face.

“I have it on good authority that by the end of next week you’ll have more than one invitation to the ball, ‘Mione. Trust me,” he winked, trying to keep a cool composure and not show the inappropriate disappointment he currently felt.

They continued to sit and stare at the painting above them for a while longer until Hermione broke the silence once again, “What about you?”

“What about me?” asked Fred, continuing to stare straight ahead.

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been…off today. Something bothering you?”

Fred breathed deeply. “You remember how we won all that money off Ludo Bagman at the world cup?” he asked.

Hermione nodded.

“Well, the arsehole paid us in leprechaun gold. We’ve tried to get in touch with him since, but he’s been dodging us and well…not only do we not have the money he owed us, but we also don’t have the money we gave him either. It’s why supplies are so tight for the business,” he admitted, remembering when Hermione had asked why they weren’t putting their development efforts into more than just one thing at a time.

The soft touch of Hermione’s hand on his brought Fred’s attention away from the painting. Briefly he looked down at the place where their hands were entangled. He should stop her. The touch while friendly in nature, did nothing to quell the stirring attraction in the pit of his stomach. But he didn’t. Instead he allowed himself to indulge in the small bit of intimacy. After all, it was innocent enough.

“Have you considered writing to him and reminding him just how serious unsanctioned gambling is in Britain? I’m sure he’d like to know how…consequential it would be if someone in the Ministry found out he’d been gambling illegally at the cup, especially with at least two underage wizards,” said Hermione.

Fred look at her incredulously. Had he really heard her say what he thought he did? “Are you suggesting blackmail, Miss Granger?”

“I’m just saying that if _I_ were Ludo Bagman, I’d like to keep my job at the Ministry. How he chooses to do so, is entirely up to him.” She said the words so casually, you would have thought she was discussing an article in the Daily Prophet – not the plotting of blackmailing a Ministry official. But Fred didn’t miss the evil glint of mischief in her eye as she stared at him impishly. Good god, he did not deserve Hermione Granger.

And neither did his little brother, thought Fred as he sought out Ron that afternoon. It was Wednesday – a week and half till the ball and he had a mission. Despite his feelings towards Hermione and the thought of Ron being not nearly worthy of her, he knew that what Hermione wanted was for his idiot of a brother to ask her to the ball. So, he was going to make sure just that happened. He found Ron on the grounds, under a tree near the black lake with Harry and Hermione. Despite the snow and freezing temperatures, the three were huddled up arguing about something as a small blue flame floated near them. Wrapping his robes around him tightly, Fred trudged through the snow towards the three of them.

“What’s this then? Not you three freezing your arses off in the snow when there’s a perfectly good castle just over there!” he called out to them, breaking the small trio out of whatever spat they were in.

“Hullo to you too,” called Harry.

“What do _you_ want?” asked Ron.

“Oi. Very rude! I can’t come and see my favorite baby brother?”

“Is it _me_ that you want?” questioned Ron, sending a glance in Hermione’s direction.

“Actually yes—” Fred dug his hands deep into his pockets “—mind if we…” He gestured behind him and Ron stood with a huff – clearly put out by having to pause his conversation.

Fred walked a distance from where Harry and Hermione sat before he stopped and turned to Ron.

“What?” asked Ron again, looking down at him expectantly. Merlin, when did he get so tall? wondered Fred.

“Have you got yourself a date to the ball yet?”

“Why do you care mate?” laughed Ron, looking around like he expected George to pop up at any moment and pummel him with snowballs.

“I’m just saying, time’s running out and before you know it, the ones you really want to ask will be taken,” he said sending a purposeful look towards Hermione.

“What? Hermione? Don’t be ridiculous,” squeaked Ron.

It took every last ounce of his strength, for Fred to not throttle Ron for his stupidity. Here he was trying to do a nice thing for Hermione and subsequently his little brother and what did he get in return? He was Father bloody Christmas at this point.

“Listen – you can say whatever you want, but your little crush on Hermione—”

“—I don’t have a crush on Hermione—”

“—your little crush on Hermione isn’t as big of a secret to some. So, I advise you ask her before somebody else does.”

Ron scoffed, “Sure.”

“Hey—” Fred held his hands up in defeat “—I’m just saying. And now that I’ve said my peace, my moral obligation is done, and I can leave you to it. Don’t cock it up, mate.”

Ron looked at Fred like he was a strange creature from the depths of the Black Lake itself. “Okay…well if that’s all, I’m gonna head back. Weirdo…” Ron breathed the last sentiment as he turned away from Fred and headed back towards Harry and Hermione.

Fred shook his head, having the sinking feeling that Ron would, in fact, cock it up.

And he’d been right. Two days later and Ron had yet to ask Hermione to the ball. Even worse, he had it on good authority – from some gossiping third year girls – that Krum had approached Hermione on the grounds the day before. For all he knew, Krum had asked her again and the poor girl had said yes because at this point it was so close to the day of the ball that she probably thought Ron would never ask! Fred glared down at the parchment in front of him and then over to Ron who was seated on the couch between Harry and Hermione. Scratching a quick note onto a bit of spare parchment, he crumpled it and threw it in Ron’s direction. Ron picked it up, unfolding the note and reading it out loud.

 ** _“Hurry up and ask someone before all the good ones are taken._** Who are _you_ taking the ball then?” Ron asked in annoyance.

Fred looked from Ron to Angelina who sat at a nearby table with Alicia working on her potions essay. Crumpling up another piece of parchment, he sent it flying in Angelina’s direction. She looked up at him with a tired expression when the paper landed on a bit of ink not yet dried.

“What?” Angelina asked.

“Fancy going to the ball with me, Johnson? I think we’d make a rather good-looking pair.”

Angelina smiled widely, looking excitedly at Alicia before turning back to Fred and nodding enthusiastically. “Yes, I’d love to Fred.”

George clapped a hand on Fred’s back in congratulations which he gracefully took. Really it wasn’t the most romantic thing. Perhaps it would have been more romantic if Angelina hadn’t already decided they were going together. But at least he’d asked her. Fred shot a smug grin and wink in Ron’s direction. While the irritated expression on Ron’s face was expected, the look on Hermione’s face was not. She almost seemed upset as their eyes met momentarily, but before Fred could properly tell, she looked away.

“Say…Hermione…” began Ron.

Alright, not off to a great start, but it’s something, thought Fred as he listened closely.

“Yes?” asked Hermione, looking at Ron in trepidation.

“You’re a girl…”

“Very well spotted,” Hermione said, giving him a confused look.

“Well, why don’t we go together?”

Yes! He’d done it! Just when he thought Ron didn’t have it in him, he overstepped Fred’s expectations. Fred was almost tempted to walk over and pull him into a hug, but then all temptation was erased at what he heard next.

“Really?” asked Hermione in surprise.

“Yeah. I mean it’s one thing for a guy to show up alone, but for a girl it’s just sad.”

No…no, no, no. Fred groaned, laying his head in his hands. George winced beside him, knowing that a comment like that absolutely would not fly with Hermione.

“What makes you think I’d be going alone?” asked Hermione – a seemingly innocent question, but Fred knew that behind it, lurked only bad things for Ron.

“I mean, come on…” remarked Ron, faltering a bit when he saw the rage in Hermione’s eyes. Just when Fred thought it couldn’t get any worse…

“For your information. I won’t be going alone because somebody already asked me…” Fred looked up when Hermione hesitated. While he knew it wasn’t really any of his business, a part of him was wildly curious as to what the next thing she had to say was. Hermione seemed to agree with his involvement, for her eyes landed on him for the briefest of moments before she looked back at Ron and seethed her answer, “And I said yes.”

Christmas morning came without a hitch. The term had been over for nearly a week now and Fred could finally focus all of his time and effort into working out the remaining kinks of the Canary Creams. In fact, he’d spent the last week cooped up in the small classroom that was their work area, reading and brewing. George had been there quite a bit as well, but he often snuck out to the kitchens or to play a few rounds of exploding snap with Lee. Usually Fred would go too, but with the added company of Hermione he found he didn’t mind staying behind to continue working. Hermione had almost no qualms with spending most of her time hidden away in their workspace as she was still vexed with Ron over his disastrous attempt to ask her to the ball. While Fred felt bad that it didn’t work out the way he planned, he hated to admit that a small part of him was happy Ron wasn’t taking Hermione to the Yule Ball. She was too good for him, he told himself resolutely.

Fred rolled over in his bed and pulled back the curtains to see the sky still inky black. Winter mornings were always so bleak and dismal. He preferred summer when he woke with the sun. But still, the cheer and excitement that came with Christmas morning left him wide awake and so he sat up excitedly, ready to see what presents were waiting for him. The pile at the end of his bed looked its usual size except for a rather large box at the very bottom. He wondered for a moment who that could be from. Did his mother hit her head and forget they were poor? he pondered, reaching out and grabbing the first present from the top. Looking at the tag, he recognized it was from Angelina. He smiled, knowing with a chagrin that it was most likely sweets. She always got him and George sweets – despite Fred mentioning many times that he didn’t care for candy all that much. Tearing the wrapping, he was pleasantly surprised to find not candy, but a small golden compass for his broom. They had seen it in a shop last Hogsmeade weekend. Fred had innocently mentioned he’d quite like a compass for his broom, but never did he imagine Angelina would buy it for him. Amusedly, he thought of the present he got her. That same Hogsmeade visit she’d spent hours eyeing a scarf in a little side shop. When she wasn’t looking, he’d snuck back and purchased it for her. Placing the compass gently to the side, he dug into the rest of his presents. A big box of chocolate frogs from Lee, a sweater from his mum and dad along with some fudge, and a year-long subscription to Jokester’s Magazine from Alicia. All in all, a good turn out – but there was still one present he had yet to open. A big box that simply read: **_To Fred and George, From Hermione._**

Fred reached for the box and then stopped. Looking over at the closed curtains of George’s bed, he wondered if he should open the present when it was meant for him _and_ George. Really, he should wait for George to wake up and open the present together, thought Fred before grabbing the corner of the wrapping and tearing it open. Ridding the large box of its wrappings, he pulled off the lid of the box to reveal a number of small vials and boxes.

“What?” Fred pondered out loud.

“Oi! You started with out me, ya git,” grumbled George, pulling back his curtains and glaring at Fred.

“Come and see what Hermione’s got us Georgie. I’m not quite sure what it is.”

George groaned, rolling out his bed with a heavy thump of his feet and shuffling over to him. George stared down at the contents of the box and reached in. His fingers closed around a vial of deep blue color. Turning it over and reading the card attached to the top George read aloud: “Billywig sting—" George reached in and grabbed a box this time “—dried mandrake root. Freddie, I think the girls gone and bought us potions ingredients for Christmas.”

“Really?!” Fred asked excitedly, reaching down, and grabbing a jar of newt spleen. Sure enough, it looked like the box was filled with a bit of ingredients Fred had ever heard of and then a few he had not. This would help their progress more than he though Hermione even realized. Brilliant. It was just brilliant.

“We’re set for a while now, Freddie!” exclaimed George, sitting down on his own bed and beginning to open his presents.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” Fred couldn’t wipe the grin from his face for the rest of the morning. With the knowledge that they were free to explore and experiment to their hearts desire, he was constantly reminded of one of the best Christmas presents he’d ever gotten. He meant to tell her as much too, but Hermione was distinctly missing from the breakfast that morning and the common room as well. When he finally ran into Ron and Harry and asked about her, they had said something about her getting ready for the ball. Ron had scoffed, still convinced that Hermione was lying about her date for the Yule Ball. While Fred was one of the few who actually knew who she was going with, he wasn’t going to tell Ron any different. Secretly he couldn’t wait to see the stupid look on Ron’s face when Hermione arrived that on the arm of Viktor Krum.

How could it possibly take her all day to get ready for a stupid dance? thought Fred as he settled into a game of chess with Ron. While his little brother walloped him, checking his king for the third time that morning, Fred thought of Hermione’s fantastic Christmas gift. Self-consciously he wondered if his gift to her matched up. What was a small book compared to all those ingredients? It must have cost her almost all her pocket money and then some. The rest of the day was spent in the common room, alternating between chess, exploding snap, and chatting with his fellow Gryffindors. The tower was much busier than any holiday Fred had spent at Hogwarts – the Yule Ball keeping everyone over Christmas break that usually would have gone home. It was a little after two when Angelina, Alicia, Katie, and Ginny stated they were headed up to their dorms to get ready for the ball. He, George, Lee, Ron, and Harry bid they goodbye before deciding to take a walk around the grounds before getting ready themselves. The wind was bone chilling as they strolled from the castle to the quidditch pitch and back, leaving their faces tinged pink and raw.

By the time they got back, they had nearly an hour till the ball began and so, they all departed to their dorms to get into their dress robes. Fred’s dress robes were a standard black, but he’d purchased a purple tie a week ago via owl-order to match Angelina’s dress. Checking himself in the mirror one last time, he straightened his tie and smoothed down his long, ginger locks. George appeared in the mirror behind him, straightening his tie as well and giving him a shit-eating grin.

“I reckon we’ll be the best-looking blokes at the ball tonight,” said George definitively.

“Yes, but only if you mean I’ll be the best looking and you’ll be a close second,” quipped Fred.

“You both look like two huge identical prats to me—” Lee rolled his eyes, pulling at the sleeves of his baby blue robes “—now let’s go. The sooner we get there, the sooner we get to hear the Weird Sisters play.”

Lee hadn’t shut up about the Weird Sisters playing at the Yule Ball since Dumbledore had announced it. Fred and George were excited too, but they didn’t hold quite a candle in their hearts for the band like Lee did.

The night went by quickly and spectacularly. The food was divine, the Weird Sisters were just as good as Fred imagined, and Angelina was as good a date as he could imagine for the night. They talked and joked and danced, never lulling into awkward silence like so many couple there that night. It wasn’t until Angelina excused herself to the restroom that Fred realized it was nearly eleven at night. Where had the time gone? Glancing around the marvelously decorated room, he saw George laughing loudly at something Lee had said near the punchbowl, Kenneth Towler was dancing slowly to a ballad with his Ravenclaw date, and across the room sat Ron and Harry looking miserable. Their dates had long since abandoned them, Fred noted, as they had failed to dance with them once – a missed opportunity as Fred acknowledged that both Padma and Pavarti Patil were very pretty girls. Unfortunately, Ron and Harry were just too preoccupied with Hermione and more importantly her date. When he failed to spot the duckling turned swan of the evening, he meandered casually out of the room and into the adjoining corridor where several students stood mingling. Traveling further down, he spotted a terrace door ajar and peaked through the glass to see Hermione standing by herself in the cold. Hands braced on the stone railing, she looked out into the dark expanse of the knight.

“What are you doing out here? It’s freezing!” exclaimed Fred, noting Hermione’s flushed appearance and looking for any signs of her turning blue. Luckily, the only thing blue about her was the fabric of her dress – a dress that every girl apparently adored that evening, for even Angelina had spent a fair bit of time discussing it with Alicia. Hermione truly did look beautiful. Everyone had been gossiping about her since the moment she walked into the ballroom on the arm of Viktor Krum. Her dress revealed a figure Fred had never seen before – one that was womanly and soft, her skin looked soft and dewy like she’d stepped out of a painting, and her hair had somehow been tamed into an elaborate updo with a few loose curls framing her face. Although, if Fred was being honest with himself, he preferred her hair the way it usually looked – wild and lioness-like.

Hermione jumped, grabbing ahold of the railing in front of her and bringing a hand up to her heart. Clearly, she hadn’t expected company out here and Fred didn’t blame her – only someone truly insane would be standing out in the cold like this without the proper robes. “Merlin Fred, you scared me!”

“What are you doing out here?” he asked again, stepping towards her.

“Nothing…Viktor went to get drinks and I needed a bit of fresh air,” said Hermione, but the way in which she worried her bottom lip, her deliciously tempting bottom lip, between her teeth told him there might be more. So, he stared at her, raising an eyebrow in question until she broke.

“Oh god, Fred. I don’t know what to do!” she yelled, bringing a hand up to her temple. She began to pace back and forth, the hem of her dress dragging in the snow that was beginning to build on the terrace.

Fred reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, halting her movements. “What happened? What’s the matter?” he asked, looking over her for any signs of physical ailments. Had Krum hurt her somehow?

“Nothing, well no that’s not true. It is something, but it hasn’t necessarily happened yet and I—”

“Just tell me why you’re out here trying to freeze to death, _please_ Hermione,” said Fred, cutting her ramblings short.

“I…what if he tries to kiss me?”

Fred wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“I mean, you kiss him back. If that’s what you want and if it’s not what you want, then kick him in the shins. You’ve got a killer kick – I can attest to that personally.”

Hermione smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes, the golden amber color shining with worry. “I just…I was dancing with him and there was a moment where I thought he might kiss me and then someone interrupted us and so we didn’t. But I had the realization that he might try to kiss me again and I’ve never kissed anyone before. What if I’m bad at it, Fred?” she asked looking up at him with a desperate expression.

“It’s a first kiss – everyone’s first kiss is a little awkward,” reasoned Fred, trying very hard not to look at her plump pink lips.

“Yes, but what if I’m so bad that he never wants to kiss me again? I just…I don’t know what to expect or what to do and I—”

Before Fred could weigh the pros and cons of his actions, he was leaning down and capturing Hermione’s frantically moving lips in his own. The kiss was sweet at first, a firm yet gentle press of his lips to hers, but like a man thirsting in the desert, the moment he reached water he had to drink his fill. Reaching up, he cupped her face and deepened the kiss. Slotting their lips, he moved in slow measured movements. For her first kiss, Hermione was more skilled than she knew. Her lips moved naturally and achingly sweet with his, parting just enough for him to swipe his tongue along the crease and taste her. Later on, he would reason with himself that he only did it to shut her up. He’d go on to tell her, after breaking the kiss, that he merely did it so she wouldn’t be nervous for when Krum kissed her later – she’d be prepared and know what to expect. But in that moment, as he felt her soft skin beneath his fingertips and breathed in her essence, he couldn’t lie to himself. He kissed her because he was selfish. He kissed her because the idea of Krum being the first man to sample her sweet lips lit a burning fire of rage in his veins. He kissed her because he wanted to.


	13. Uh Oh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So they've kissed...now what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST) (except that one time)!
> 
> Please, please, please feel free to leave kudos and comments. I love hearing people's thoughts and opinions on the story!
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_If I breathe I will misplace my fear_   
_I won't walk away in anger dear_   
_Or in time I will forget_   
_And I stumble toward you with hands around your neck_

* * *

She was floating – floating in deep frigid water and while her eyes were closed, she did not need to open them to know this. The weightlessness of her body and the pressure on her ears told her she was somewhere she really shouldn’t be. Her body wasn’t meant to be there, so far below the water where only creatures of the deep lurked through the thick slimy seagrass and cavernous rock.

I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t _be_ here, the voice in Hermione’s head repeated endlessly. It grew louder and louder, giving her the strength to break from the body-binding paralysis that kept her lifeless and still. Wrenching open her eyes; she was greeted with an endless black. How far beneath the water’s surface did she have to be to see so little? Turning her head blindly, she tried to find anything that showed a way out, but again there was nothing. A great expanse of nothing. With her consciousness came the overwhelming need to breathe, but Hermione knew that she couldn’t. Unless she’d suddenly sprouted gills, it would be impossible to fill her aching lungs with anything but ice-cold water. She had to get out. Kicking her feet, she stroked through the water desperately pushing herself upwards, but it was no use. Something had her caught around the ankle, holding her in place. Frantically, she reached down and felt the rough surface of rope under her wrinkled fingertips. She grasped at the rope, pulling and twisting, trying to find the knot as she held her breath. Her heart was beginning to pound violently in her chest and her lungs screamed for the sweet relief of oxygen, but still she fought. Just as she felt the material start to give, it changed from coarse cotton to slick flesh. Hermione let out a startled scream, muffled by the water, and kicked her feet wildly at whatever was holding onto her. It’s searching fingers traveled up her calf, inch by inch. With a violent kick, she broke free from its grasp, pushing herself upwards with all the strength she had. She wasn’t confident that the way she swam was right, the darkness concealing all sense of direction, but then, she saw the light. The beautiful brightness that illuminated the water above her. Kicking with all her might she pushed herself until she broke through the surface gasping and sputtering.

Too preoccupied with letting her burning lungs fill with air, she was completely caught off guard when the world shifted around her. While floating on the water’s surface moments before, she was now falling. The sensation sending her stomach up into her throat as she let out a blood curdling scream. Hermione hit the ground hard, the soft grass beneath her doing nothing to pillow the impact. Panting heavily, she pushed up onto her hands and knees and looked around her. She was on the Hogwarts grounds. It was dusk, the sun not yet set enough to give way to the moon and stars. The grounds were empty, not a soul in sight, but the muffled sounds of a crowd could be heard. Getting to her feet, she saw in the distance, a large stadium brightly lit. There were people – they could help her. Limping towards the stadium, the sounds of the crowd grew louder and louder. By the time Hermione reached the arched entrance it was almost deafening, but when she turned the corner expecting to see hundreds of people sat on the stands, she saw no one. The voices were gone, and she was alone. Alone except for someone lying in the grass just a jog away.

“Hello?” Hermione called out, her voice echoing around her.

She took a few steps forward, the person coming into focus. A flash of jet-black hair and round-rimmed glasses were all she needed to see to know who it was. Hermione sprinted to Harry, coming to his side to find him pale and lifeless. Grasping his arm, she shook his rigid body, a tightness forming in her chest and a burning behind her eyes.

“Harry? Harry!” she shouted, continuing to shake him.

The sound of something heavy hitting the ground with force broke her focus and she turned to see a second body lying nearby. Crawling to it, she saw the dead and empty eyes of Ron as his body lay twisted and crumpled on the grass. She had barely reached him when there was another thud. And another. And another. All around her she watched as bodies hit the dewy grass with a sickening squelch of flesh and bone. So many – one after another. Everyone she knew and loved falling through the air and landing dead at her feet. She turned her tear-streaked face up to the sky slowly, afraid of what she might find. With horror she saw hundreds of bodies floating through an endless sea in the sky. They looked so peaceful, almost like they were sleeping, but Hermione knew better.

“Well, well, well…what do we have here?” asked a breathy, ominous voice.

Hermione gasped, looking back down to see a group concealed by masks and long hooded robes surrounding her. Stumbling backwards, she tripped over one of the bodies, landing hard on her bottom. Looking down she saw the helpless body of Cedric Diggory – the Hufflepuff champion. Desperately Hermione searched for her wand but found it nowhere on her person.

“Hermione,” Hermione heard a distant call of her name, but it was overpowered by the ominous voice speaking once again.

“Looking for this?” asked the voice. Hermione looked up. One of the masked and hooded figures stepped forward, towering over her, and holding out her wand. She reached for it, but before she could grasp the familiar wood, the figure snatched it away.

“Hermione,” called the distant voice again – this time coming through clearer.

The figure above her laughed, a bone chilling creaking sound. “I’m sorry dear – only witches own wands.”

“Hermione!”

Hermione shook her head, looking up at her mother’s concerned face from across the kitchen table. She’d been thinking about her nightmare again.

“Sorry mum – what did you say?” she asked, inhaling deeply, and sitting forward in her chair.

“Your father asked if you wanted one or two pancakes,” said her mother, cocking her head to the side and staring worriedly at Hermione.

“Oh—” Hermione twisted in her seat to where her father stood in front of the stove “—I’ll just have one dad. Thank you.”

“I’m worried about you, dear,” said her mother sweetly. “We just got you back for the summer and yet these past two weeks you’ve been so far away.”

“I’m sorry mum. I truly am happy to be here with you both. I just have a lot on my mind, is all,” said Hermione guiltily, looking down at her orange juice.

“Did something happen at school before you left? Something with that boy you wrote to us about? The one who took you to the dance?”

“No, no. Nothing happened. In fact, I received a letter from him the other day. He made it back to Bulgaria safely, and has started quidditch practice up again for the new season,” Hermione informed them, purposefully leaving out the true end of term events. They didn’t need to know what happened. It would only worry them. So instead she focused on the contents of Krum’s recent letter and thought fondly of him and how he’d all but begged her to write to him when they parted ways at the end of year. They’d grown quite close over the second of the term.

“Is he your boyfriend now then?” asked her father cheekily.

“Dad!” Hermione cried in embarrassment.

“Dan don’t tease the poor girl. If Hermione had a boyfriend, she would tell us…you would tell us, right?” her mother asked with false casualty.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes. Of course, I would tell you. But he’s not my boyfriend so there’s nothing to tell. He and I both agreed that furthering any relationship would not be wise. He’s all the way in Bulgaria and graduated, while I still have three more years at school. It wouldn’t work,” Hermione stated diplomatically.

“Well then, that still doesn’t explain why you’ve been so absent these past few weeks. Are you sure there isn’t something bothering you dear? You can tell us. You know we’ll support you in whatever it is.”

“Stop pestering her Jean,” said Dan, placing a plate with eggs, sausage, and a single pancake on the table in front of Hermione, before grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her out of her seat. He reached over and turned up the radio that had been playing soft music in the background. A new song picked up, lilting an old jazz tune through the small kitchen. Her father spun her in place, Hermione’s sock-ladened feet sliding easily over the linoleum, before he pulled her back into his arms and began to dance with her. “She’s a teenager now, dear. She’s probably tired of spending so much time with her boring old parents!” he declared with flourish as he dipped Hermione lightly and tapped the end of her nose with his spatula.

A giggle slipped past Hermione’s lips and she scrunched her nose.

“Old and boring? You two?” Hermione laughed as her father deposited her back into her chair. Jean’s expression was lighter now as she watched her smiling daughter begin to dig into her breakfast.

“Speaking of old and boring—” began Jean, looking teasingly at her husband.

“Watch it,” interjected Dan in a mock warning.

“We were thinking we would go and visit your father’s parents in France again this summer. We’d leave in a week.”

“Oh—” Hermione stopped mid-bite, the egg on her fork slipping back onto the plate “—again? What about your practice?”

They’d spent the last three summers in France and while Hermione did enjoy the country and seeing her grandparents, she hoped to spend at least a little time at home in Britain.

“The practice will survive without us for a month or so – no one’s getting their teeth cleaned in the summer anyways. They’re all too busy sunbathing and traveling,” said Dan, flipping a pancake over.

“As much as I love Gran and Gramps, I thought I’d spend a majority of my time this summer preparing for my O.W.L.s. I hoped to be able to go into Diagon Alley for books if I needed and I’m afraid I won’t be very fun to be around,” said Hermione, putting her fork down and pushing her plate away from her. Jean frowned at Hermione’s barely touched breakfast.

“I had a feeling you might not be keen on going—” Jean pushed Hermione’s plate back in front of her “—I hadn’t told you yet, but your father and I received a letter yesterday.”

“A letter?” Hermione’s pulse quickened – she’d artfully hidden the letter Hogwarts sent out to parents about the events of the Triwizard Tournament. How on earth was she supposed to explain to them that a student had died? Better yet – how was she supposed to explain to them that the darkest and most vile wizard Britain had ever known was back once again? They’d ask questions. They’d want answers. But most importantly, they might think twice about allowing her to go back to Hogwarts and she very well couldn’t let that happen. So, when her mother mentioned a letter, Hermione worried for a moment that perhaps Hogwarts had decided to start sending out letters through the muggle post as well.

“Yes, from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose. She opened her mouth to ask why they hadn’t given her the letter, but her mother spoke again, reading her mind.

“It wasn’t for you. It was for your father and I. They wanted to ask if it was alright if you came and stayed with them this summer holiday. Apparently, your friend Ron misses you,” said Jean, giving Hermione a wry grin.

“He does?” asked Hermione in surprise.

“Yes, it seems so.”

“Did…” Hermione paused, swallowing thickly. “Did they mention anyone…else, or anything?” she asked, feeling a tightness in her chest.

Her mother cocked an eyebrow. “No. Why?”

“No reason—” Hermione let out a shaky laugh “—I was curious if Harry was there yet or not.”

Jean nodded, but the look in her eye told Hermione that she didn’t believe her for a second.

“Anyway, your father and I wanted to wait to respond until we spoke to you.”

“Oh…well—" Hermione chewed the inner corner of her bottom lip “—can I think about it?”

“Really?” asked her mother looking slightly taken aback.

“No need to put up false pretenses for our sake, Hermione. We know you’d much rather spend your summer with your friends, than in France with us and your Gran’s five cats,” said Dan, placing a plate of food down in front of his wife and taking a seat with his own.

“Crookshanks does dislike them…” commented Hermione, looking over to where her fluffy orange cat sat on top of the refrigerator. His tail twitched back and forth as he stared down at them with a bored yet scrutinizing look.

“See, exactly. Nothing to think about!” exclaimed her father.

“Only if you two are sure. I’d hate for you to think I don’t want to spend time with you,” Hermione said, feeling both guilty for leaving her parents so soon, and nervous for spending the rest of the summer at the Burrow.

“Nonsense. We know you love us, honey. Go have fun with your friends! I think it might be good for you.” Her mother’s words were light and kind, but Hermione could tell that there was a deeper meaning behind them.

“Alright, I’ll go upstairs and pen a letter now.” Hermione scooted out of her chair, placed a quick kiss to her mother and father’s cheeks, and sprinted up the stairs to her room. When she reached the solitude of her four walls, a wave of anxiety overtook her. Hesitating in front of the white-painted desk of her youth, she contemplated for a moment whether she truly did want to spend the rest of her summer with the Weasleys. Or more accurately, one Weasley in particular. Sitting down on the small wooden chair, she allowed her mind to drift back to that night. The night of the Yule Ball.

_Truly a night to remember, Viktor was more of a gentleman than Hermione could have ever imagined. She felt like Cinderella on the night of the ball, arriving in a beautiful gown and spending the evening on Prince Charming’s arm as everyone stared and gawked. She relished in the dumbfounded looks on Harry and Ron’s faces as Viktor spun her around the dancefloor. And Viktor was an excellent dance partner – not quite as good as Fred due to his general lack of grace on the ground, but still fantastic, nonetheless. But his prowess as a date didn’t end at dancing. He was complimentary, considerate, good-humored, and an enthusiastic conversationalist. Needless to say, by the time the Weird Sisters were on their fourth song, she was quite taken with Viktor Krum. So, when he locked eyes with her as a ballad played on, Hermione found no reason to object or run away. She wanted Viktor to kiss her. Unfortunately, before his lips could connect with hers, a nearby couple bumped into them, breaking the moment and also Hermione’s calm demeanor._

_“Shall I get us some refreshments, Her-my-oh-nee?” asked Krum. Hermione blushed, touched that he had taken the time since they’d last spoke to practice her name. He’d gotten it right nearly every time that night._

_Hermione nodded, allowing Krum to lead her off of the dance floor and over to a nearby table. “I’m actually going to use the loo. Meet you back here?” she asked, feeling a rush of warmth overtake her._

_Krum nodded before turning and heading in the direction of the refreshment table. Hermione turned, exiting the ballroom, and walking towards the long hallway that held the girl’s lavatory. However, she’d only made it a few meters when a tightness formed in her chest and the world began to shift on its axis. Bracing herself against the stone wall to her left, she breathed slowly trying to calm herself, but it was no use. The air around her felt stifling and her dress was suddenly two sizes too small. Spotting a terrace across the hall, Hermione ran to it, flinging the French doors open and allowing the icy air to envelope her. She leant forwards on the stone railing, already covered in a light smattering of snow, and closed her eyes._

_I just almost kissed Viktor Krum, she thought in delight. I just almost kissed Viktor Krum, she thought to herself again, this time in abject horror. Her first kiss. She’d just almost had her first kiss and gave it no thought! Was she even ready for her first kiss? She_ was _15\. Weren’t most girls having there first kiss at 15? Hermione hated to admit she wasn’t quite sure. She didn’t know the first thing about kissing and dating. In fact, she didn’t know how to kiss at all…Oh dear, what if Viktor tried to kiss her again? What if she mucked it up? The mortifying thought grew larger and larger in her mind as she continued to stand in the freezing cold, until it was the only thing she_ could _think about. So far trapped in her own head, Hermione didn’t hear the French doors to the terrace open behind her._

_“What are you doing out here? It’s freezing!” yelled a familiar voice, breaking Hermione from her thoughts and making her jump. Her heeled feet slipped on a slick spot on the terrace and she grabbed onto the railing in front of her more firmly. Bringing a hand up to her pounding heart, she turned to see Fred._

_“Merlin Fred, you scared me!” she exclaimed, taking in the sight of him. He wore a dashing set of midnight black dress robes and a purple tie. A tie that matched the deep purple of his date’s dress. Of Angelina Johnson’s dress. The sting of his extended invitation to the Gryffindor chaser was still slightly fresh. It had been stupid of her to think, for even a moment, that when Fred swore she’d receive a second invitation to the ball he meant himself. Even if he did say it after detailing just how beautiful he thought she was. She should have known they were empty words meant only to make her feel better. Still, she couldn’t help but get swept up in the moment – alone in a corridor, in front of a portrait that only he knew calmed her racing mind, with him lamenting sweet words of her lioness mane and ferocity._

_“What are you doing out here?” Fred asked, taking a few steps away from the doors._

_“Nothing…Viktor went to get drinks and I needed a bit of fresh air,” Hermione half-lied. She really had no desire to subject Fred to another one of her trivial problems. But this was Fred, and much to her dismay he’d become the easiest person to talk to in her life. So, when he gave her that look – the look he gave her when he knew she was lying – she couldn’t help but spill every bit of her soul._

_“Oh god, Fred. I don’t know what to do!” she cried, bringing a hand up to rub at her temple, hoping it would bring her some form of mental clarity. Pushing away from the railing, she began to pace back and forth. Her whole body felt on edge, like she could burst into a full sprint and it still wouldn’t be enough to burn off the anxious feeling of self-doubt._

_Fred caught her by the shoulders, bringing her to a stop in front of him. “What happened? What’s the matter?” he asked in worry, his eyes tracing up and down her person. Hermione noticed he did that a lot these days – scan her as if he were searching for something. It always put her on edge, making her wish that he’d look away and also never stop._

_“Nothing, well no that’s not true. It is something, but it hasn’t necessarily happened yet and I—”_

_“Just tell me why you’re out here trying to freeze to death,_ please _Hermione,” said Fred firmly. Hermione was grateful for him halting her racing words._

_“I…” she hesitated, unsure of how to say what was on her mind. But ultimately, she concluded that simplicity was probably in her favor. “What if he tries to kiss me?” she asked in embarrassment, eyes falling to her feet and the building snow around them._

_“I mean, you kiss him back. If that’s what you want and if it’s not what you want, then kick him in the shins. You’ve got a killer kick – I can attest to that personally,” said Fred plainly._

_Hermione smiled at Fred’s attempt to use humor to diffuse her worries, but still it didn’t quell her racing mind. Looking up into the depths of his hazel eyes she confessed her deepest worry, “I just…I was dancing with him and there was a moment where I thought he might kiss me and then someone interrupted us and so we didn’t. But I had the realization that he might try to kiss me again and I’ve never kissed anyone before. What if I’m bad at it, Fred?”_

_Fred looked back down at her, his face twisting inscrutably. “It’s a first kiss – everyone’s first kiss is a little awkward.”_

_Hermione knew he was right, but she had opened the flood gates and the silly intrusive thoughts left her mouth without giving any time for her brain to process them, “Yes, but what if I’m so bad that he never wants to kiss me again? I just…I don’t know what to expect or what to do and I—”_

_Soft lips pressed against her own, stopping her blabbering and also her brain. The reality that she was being kissed by Fred Weasley was completely lost on her in that moment. Instead the only thing she could comprehend was the firm warmth of lips against her own. The hands that had gripped her shoulders moments before made their way in opposite directions – one sliding up to cup her face while the other wrapped around her back and gripped her waist tightly. Hermione melted into the touch, feeling a fire ignite all across her body as Fred’s lips parted, taking her lower lip between his own. She moved in tandem with him, allowing him to take the lead. Truly she did not know why she’d been so worried about kissing Viktor. This was easy, Hermione thought as she parted her lips in a gentle sigh. Then she felt the wet warmth of Fred’s tongue swipe between her open lips and something in her broke. Reaching up she wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting onto her toes to meet his kisses stroke for stroke in enthusiasm. Fred seemed to enjoy that, for he held her body tighter to his, allowing her to feel every hard plane of him through their clothes. He slid his tongue past her lips entirely then, meeting her own tongue tentatively. Hermione welcomed the invasion, a small whimper escaping the back of her throat. She wanted more, needed more._

_But she didn’t get more. Instead, Fred broke the kiss, pulling away from her harshly. Hermione released her hold on his neck as he stepped back, putting her at arm’s length. Her breaths came in harsh pants as she stared up at Fred. She knew for a fact she must look like an absolute mess. She could feel the blush on her face and chest, and the swell in her lips. But Fred. Fred looked completely fine. Unbothered almost. The only evidence of their kiss, the slight pink tinge to his lips._

_Fred cleared his throat, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his head. “There. Now you know what to expect.”_

_“What?” asked Hermione dumbly, unable to process his words after what had just happened._

_“You were worried about messing up your first kiss and not knowing what to expect. Now you know,” explained Fred casually._

_“Oh, yeah. Of course. Thank you,” she mumbled, unsure of what else to say. “Well, I should be getting back inside. Viktor’s probably waiting for me.”_

_She didn’t wait for Fred to reply. Instead Hermione stepped around him and headed back into the castle, feeling the icy sting of her cold flesh as the warmth of the stone walls surrounded her once again._

A tapping on her window broke Hermione from her memory. Looking to her right she saw the familiar sight of Errol standing on her window ledge, a letter in his beak. Hermione opened the window, allowing the bird to enter. She gave him a treat in exchange for the letter and paused when she saw that it wasn’t one letter, but two. Opening the first she saw Ron’s familiar messy scrawl.

**_Dear Hermione,_ **

**_Mum says she sent a letter to your parents three days ago through the muggle post. Have you gotten it yet? If not, it says that you’re invited to come and spend some of the summer holiday with us. If you have, please respond to this letter via Errol. You won’t believe what’s going on! I can’t say much through by letter, but I’ll explain everything once you get here._ **

**_Sincerely,_ **

**_Ron_ **

Hermione scrunched her brow in confusion. What was going on at the Burrow that made Ron so insistent she visit this summer? She didn’t usually spend summers with the Weasleys. That was more Harry’s thing. Setting Ron’s letter down and picking up the second, she stared at it with trepidation. Was it from Fred? Delicately she tore open the envelope and read:

**_Dear Miss Hermione Brunhilda Granger (Fred and I didn’t know your middle name, so we took a wild guess),_ **

**_Ron’s told us that our mum and dad have invited you to spend the summer with us, but that you haven’t written back. What’s keeping your response and why is it the fact that you’re hopelessly in love with me (George) and you don’t know how to tell me?_ **

**_No, but seriously. Please come stay with us this summer. I don’t think you’ll want to miss out on what’s going on here. Considering you’re the busy, nosy sort._ **

**_Yours truly,_ **

**_Fred and George_ **

**_George and Fred_ **

**_P.S. – We’ve been doing a lot of inventing and we really would like your help and input._ **

**_P.P.S. – Fred’s been a mopey git lately and I need you to come and help me put him in a better mood._ **

Hermione stared down at the two letters in front of her for a very long time. So long in fact that Errol grew impatient and nipped harshly at her hand.

“Ouch! Errol,” she scolded the bird, picking up her quill and two spare pieces of parchment.

**_Dear Ron,_ **

**_Tell your mum and dad that I’ve spoken with my parents and would be happy to join you and your family for the remainder of the summer holiday. My parents are to leave for France in a week’s time. Would Saturday, the 17 th work? _ **

**_Best,_ **

**_Hermione_ **

She finished the letter quickly, signing her name and placing it into an envelope addressed to Ron. Then picking up the next piece of parchment, she took a moment longer to stare hard at the blank page before putting ink to parchment. She could do this. All she had to do is pretend like nothing was wrong.

**_Dear George and Fred,_ **

**_I’m afraid you’ve figured me out. I’m hopelessly in love with you George and have decided that I can’t take the distance between us any longer. Therefore, I will be spending the rest of the summer with you and your family. I hope we can use this time to explore our undying love for one another. Please, refrain from breaking my heart._ **

**_On a more serious note – I should have known that you two only wanted me for my brain. You realize at some point you’ll be responsible for your own inventions without my help. Yes?_ **

**_Either way, I guess it won’t hurt for me to take a look at these new products of yours. You know, to make sure you haven’t mucked them up entirely._ **

**_Best,_ **

**_Hermione_ **

**_P.S. – Have you considered Fred’s only mopey because he’s jealous of our timeless love?_ **

**_P.P.S – My middle name is Jean._ **

She finished, hoping the short letter held enough joking and light-heartedness to match George’s and seem normal. The last thing she needed was for anyone to find out that she was helplessly in love with not George, but Frederick Weasley.

* * *

“See, I told you she was in love with me, Freddie,” remarked George, placing Hermione’s letter down on the old wooden desk. A puff of dust floated up into the air as soon as the parchment hit the surface. Despite their mother’s best efforts, every surface of the ancient Black home still leeched grime and dirt. They’d spent the last two weeks, ever since they got back from school really, deep cleaning and attempting to bring the childhood home of Sirius Black back to life. However, Fred was beginning to feel as though it was a futile effort. Every surface cleaned, revealed a new layer of grit and dust just for them to clean again. It was beginning to weight heavily on Fred’s nerves. What was the point of having all those galleons Harry gave them from the tournament and more ideas than they knew what to do with, if they didn’t have any time to actually work on anything?

He almost wondered if his mum was doing it on purpose. Heaven forbid they spend a single moment not dedicated to clearing out pixie infestations and polishing furniture. Who knows what they’d do if left up to their own devices – why they very well might invent something that made them incredibly rich and successful? Well, their dear mum couldn’t have that, no. Not when the means of their success came from less than reputable avenues like jokes and pranks.

“She’s not in with love you, you smarmy git. If anything, she’s humoring you,” said Fred, taking advantage of their free morning to do some research for their new line of products. George, on the other hand was more preoccupied with testing out some of the few items they’d been able to successfully create. Absentmindedly, he picked up the pair of Extendable Ears and began to untangle the line between the two ends.

“Someone’s still in a right fowl mood. You know, we can’t all be lucky enough to have girlfriends. Some of us still have to play the field,” said George casually, successfully untangling the Extendable Ears and leaning against the desk, crossing his arms.

“For the last time, I’m not in a fowl mood _or_ mopey. I’m busy.”

“Ah yes, _busy_. Too busy inventing and writing your girlfriend to have a bit of fun. You know, if I knew that this business idea would turn you into Percy, I never would have suggested it. What’s the use of inventing prank items for a living, if you don’t know how to have fun anymore?”

Fred looked up at his twin brother in offense. “Compare me to Percy again and I’ll show you just how wrong you are, Georgie,” Fred warned, throwing his book down onto the messy bed and rolling over to lie on his back.

George crossed the room, standing next to the foot of the four-post bed and leaning against the ornately carved wood. He stared down at Fred, giving him a look that Fred was trying very hard to ignore. Times like this he very much disliked having a twin – it wasn’t always great having someone know every sordid detail of your life and your feelings.

“Still haven’t heard back from Angelina then?” asked George, although it came out as more of a statement, really. Fred shot him a look that clearly stated that they both already knew the answer. “Well, I mean – she is at that quidditch camp thing…right? Maybe she’s not getting your letters?”

It was a suggestion George had made after Angelina neglected to respond to his second and third letter. After the fourth, Fred had decided to just give up. If Angelina cared any at all about his summer, she would write back. He sighed, bringing a hand up to run through his newly cropped hair. The first thing they’d done with the money Harry gave them was go and get proper haircuts. Harry Potter – what a saint. The mad boy didn’t have to go and give them all of his Triwizard Tournament winnings, and they genuinely tried to turn him down. It was much too much money. But he had insisted, saying he already had all the money he needed, and he didn’t feel right keeping it. He and George didn’t hold the same qualms.

“Look on the bright side, Freddie. Hermione’ll be here in a week and then we can use that big brain of hers to finish off some of these inventions,” said George, sitting down on the bed next to Fred and pulling out a piece of taffy from his pocket. Fred watched him unwrap the colorful candy before popping it into his mouth. “And she’ll have all the time in the world to do it, since her little Bulgarian boyfriend won’t be taking up all her time. Relationships really do muck up everything…” George lamented, rolling his eyes, and chewing thoughtfully.

It was true. After the Yule Ball, Hermione had been distinctly absent from the little forgotten classroom they used to house all their work. It had started small – her reasons for not hanging around. At first, she was busy with the upstart of classes again. Then, she needed to help Harry with the second task. Eventually, it was Viktor wanting to study in the library with her or accompany her to Hogsmeade weekends. One reason after another for her not to see them, to help with their inventions or to just hang out. A small part of him wondered if that was his fault. Maybe his kiss at the Yule Ball had offended her so much that she was purposefully avoiding him. But he knew Hermione, if she had considered the kiss to be any kind of insult or affront, she would have made it known. But instead, she thanked him and hadn’t brought it up since. Most likely for the best, he thought. Still, despite his nagging guilty conscience, there was the possibility that Hermione was just truly busy. Merlin knows he had been busy too.

The Yule Ball had solidified his and Angelina’s relationship. They walked the halls hand in hand. He carried her books between classes. They spent afternoons walking the grounds, talking, and kissing. Every Hogsmeade weekend was spent together. It was…nice. Angelina was a great girl, and the relationship was easy. Sure, it took quite a bit of time away from his other endeavors like pulling pranks with George and concocting products, but he supposed the sex that came with it more than made up for it.

“Yes, I’m sure having Hermione here will be much more convenient. So long as she hasn’t replaced Viktor Krum for our little brother,” spat Fred bitterly, surprising even himself with his harsh tone.

“What makes you think she’ll even give him the time of day now?” asked George, raising an eyebrow.

Fred scoffed. “Please, why do you think she broke up with Krum at the end of the school year?”

“You don’t think someone other than our baby brother could have been the cause of that?”

“Who else could it have been?” questioned Fred, giving his twin an exasperated look.

George stared at him hard for a moment before shaking his head with a small smile and answering, “No one. You’re probably right. I mean, who else could break up the happy couple but an obnoxious Weasley git?”

Fred tried not to focus on the double-meaning laced within George’s words. He couldn’t know. There was no way he could know that he had kissed Hermione. Mainly because he hadn’t told him. He hadn’t told anyone. It wasn’t like him to keep things from George. In fact, it was an entirely foreign concept to him. He’d shared everything with his twin since before he could even comprehend the concept of privacy or boundaries. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of hope at George’s speculative statement. Did he know something that Fred did not? Shaking his head at the foolish thoughts, he picked up his book again and stared at the printed words. There was no reason to feel hopeful about anything. He was dating Angelina. Hermione had a crush on Ron. Their kiss had been nothing – inconsequential really. Was he physically attracted to Hermione? Sure, but that didn’t mean anything. He was physically attracted to a lot of people. He was human after all. Therefore, it shouldn’t bother him if she were to stare googly-eyed at his baby brother while she was there for the rest of the summer. And even if it did, it would only be because it took time away from her helping them with their products.

Roughly slamming his book closed once again, he looked to George who was currently picking at a loose thread on the bed’s duvet cover. “Wanna’ go see if we can levitate Ron’s shoes to make him float upside-down?” he asked.

George let out a large breath of relief, jumping from the bed with overt enthusiasm. “Thank Merlin. I thought you’d never ask.”


	14. In The Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione arrives at Grimmauld Place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST) (except that one time)!
> 
> Please, please, please feel free to leave kudos and comments. I love hearing people's thoughts and opinions on the story!
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_I can't stop myself from calling_   
_calling out your name_   
_I can't stop myself from falling_   
_falling back again_

* * *

July 17th came around sooner than Fred was truly ready for and before he knew it, his father and Ron were leaving Grimmauld Place to meet Hermione and her parents in Diagon Alley. They had extended the invitation to George and himself as well, but the two of them opted to stay behind to help Ginny get things ready for her arrival. Or at least that’s what George told their mum and dad. Instead, they planned to use that time to work on welcoming Hermione back the only way they knew how.

“Okay, we’ve got – fake wand, spitting teapot, nose-biting tea _cup_ , Ton-Tongue Toffee, Canary Creams, those Nosebleed Nougats we’ve been working on, aaaaand then of course we can always just turn her scarf into a snake or something,” listed George, looking down critically at the products in his trunk.

“You’re overthinking it, mate,” said Fred, chewing on the side of his thumb as he shuffled through his work notes on the desk.

“Well then, please enlighten me Freddie,” George huffed, placing his hands on his hips and turning to his twin.

“We can just apparate downstairs as soon as she gets here and scare her. She’ll never see it coming.” It was true. While Fred and George had passed their apparition tests first try the previous spring, Hermione had not been around enough to see them practice.

“What? A jump scare? That seems a bit cheap, don’t you think?”

“Since when have you cared _how_ we pull pranks?” laughed Fred. “You’ve never been particularly choosy before.” With satisfaction, Fred finally found the piece of parchment he’d been searching for and pulled it to the top of his pile of notes. It was his ingredient list for Fever Fudge. He and George had spent the entirety of their free time so far that summer developing a themed line for their business and Fred felt like they finally had it. Now they just needed to _make_ the products. And they needed Hermione’s help. Hermione. The familiar twisting and churning in his stomach returned every time he thought of her. What was it about the little witch that made him so bloody nervous? His palms sweat, his neck got hot, and his stomach ached whenever her soon to be visit was brought to the forefront of his mind that week. It was ridiculous. It was only Hermione after all. Even if he did fancy her at one point, that was off the table now. He was with Angelina and she still fancied his brother. The only thing to do was to get back to normal, go back to the way things were before he found himself lusting after his baby brother’s friend, go back to when they were simply just friends.

“I suppose we could do it when she’s standing next to Walburga. That’ll certainly give her a fright,” mused George, closing his trunk with a heavy thump of the lid.

“Now you’re getting it, Georgie boy!” Fred stacked the parchment and moved around quills and ink bottles, doing his best to tidy up the small workspace. Hermione was sure to make a comment on their messiness the minute she saw it. She always did.

“You seem in better spirits—” George leaned casually against the wall near the open window and looked at Fred with an annoyingly knowing smirk “—Hermione’s visit wouldn’t have anything to do with that. Would it?”

Fred scoffed. “It has everything to do with her visit, Georgie. We need a pair of fresh eyes to go over these product designs and it’ll be someone else to talk to in this depressing place besides you.”

George opened his mouth, clearly ready to refute Fred’s statement when a large tawny owl soared through the open window and landed on the bottom left-hand corner of the desk. The owl had a stately, professional manner, akin to the owls used at Hogwarts. Taking the letter from its claws, Fred gave the owl a small treat and watched as it spread its wings and soared back out through the open window. He turned the envelope over in his hands and saw that it was addressed to him. The words were in a neat scrawl he recognized immediately, and so he tore into the envelope with enthusiasm.

**_Dear Fred,_ **

**_I’m so sorry I haven’t written to you. Quidditch camp has kept me really busy. They have us running so many drills, I barely have the energy to eat at the end of the day. But, as I’m the new Gryffindor quidditch team captain (remember don’t tell anyone, it’s still a secret), it’s important that I know everything there is to know. I hope your summer is going well, though!_ **

**_I will try to write more later, but I wanted to send you a quick note to let you know I’ve gotten your letters._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Angelina_ **

**_P.S. – You won’t believe who’s an instructor here. Oliver Wood! Can you believe it?_ **

Fred threw the letter down onto the desk with a sigh. She clearly hadn’t read his letters. If she had, then she would have known that his summer was _not_ going well. Feeling close enough with Angelina and taking the fact that she was his girlfriend into consideration, he’d shared with her his lamentings of his overbearing mother and the general stodginess of the home they were currently staying in. He hoped to get a tad bit of sympathy or maybe even acknowledgement. But instead, he got a few short lines and news on Oliver Wood. He smirked at the last bit. At least he could be certain that Oliver Wood was there to torture her with his insane quidditch practices and long-winded speeches on hard work and diligence.

“Who’s it from?” asked George.

“Angelina,” answered Fred, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his head as he stared at the discarded letter on the desk in front of him.

“What’s it say?”

The sound of the front door opening downstairs caught the pair’s attention and Fred stood, grabbing the letter, and tucking it into his pocket. “Don’t worry about it. Hermione’s here. Let’s go,” he said pointing to the door with a tilt of his head.

Sneaking down the hallway, they leaned over the banister and spied the top of Hermione’s frizzy head. They watched as she walked slowly down the entry hall, looking side to side as she took in the ominous visage of the ancient Black home. She was almost to the end of the hallway where it split into three separate directions when Fred looked to his brother and with a nod, and apparated. Fred felt the familiar pull at his navel and the thrilling sensation of the air being sucked from the space around him before he landed effortlessly beside Hermione. Half of a second later George appeared at her other side.

“Wotcher Granger!” they exclaimed in unison, immediately dissolving into laughter when Hermione jumped with fright. The poor little witch let out a startled yelp, falling back into the covered portrait of Sirius Black’s mother Walburga.

Upon being woken up the nasty woman began to spit her usual vitriol, “Filth! Mudbloods! Blood traitors! In my home! The disgrace! Out! Out!”

“Fred! George! How many times have I told you to leave that portrait be?!” screamed their mother, appearing in the kitchen doorway to their right.

“Wasn’t us mum!” yelled Fred in their defense, still trying to stifle his laughter.

“Yeah mum, Hermione’s the one that screamed and pulled the sheet down!” agreed George, slinging an arm over the shoulders of Hermione who currently looked incredibly displeased.

“Right, well I wonder why _that_ was—” their mother scowled “—get! All of you, out of here while I fix this. Ron, help me, will you dear?”

Ron, who’d been leading Hermione down the hallway stepped forward and grabbed the sheet with their mum. Meanwhile, Fred and George followed their mother’s instructions and led Hermione into the kitchen.

“You two are _biggest_ prats!” scolded Hermione, setting her bag down on the kitchen table.

“Maybe, but you still love us,” said George cheekily before pulling her into a tight hug. Hermione smiled, her irritation visibly melting away as she hugged George back. Once his twin brother had released her, Hermione turned to Fred, both of them fully intending to hug as well. But then they stopped, both jerking forward awkwardly before settling on a very stiff and uncomfortable handshake.

“Frederick,” she greeted him politely.

Fred cleared his throat before answer, “Granger.” They continued to shake hands, their arms sticking out in front of them for much too long as they stared at each other, unsure of what to say. “You’ve gotten taller,” Fred finally remarked, noticing the way she no longer came to his shoulder, but instead reached just past his chin. He released her hand lamely and brought it up to scratch the back of his head.

“Yes, well, it appears I’ve been through a bit of a growth spurt the last month or so,” she answered, before reaching for the clasp at her neck and divesting herself of her light travel robes. Growth spurt was right, thought Fred as he stared unabashedly at Hermione. Not only had she gotten taller, but her once lanky body had given way to a very womanly form. He exchanged a quick look with George, whose flabbergasted expression clearly stated that he too was witnessing the same phenomenon. Hermione Granger had gotten hot. Very hot. Swallowing thickly, Fred wanted nothing more than to burst into flames literally and figuratively. Being dead, he reasoned, would be better than dealing with the hot fresh hell of Hermione Granger surely coming into her own body the moment he had decided his attraction to her was off the table. Almost mockingly, the corner of the envelope that held Angelina’s letter poked into his thigh.

“Is that a new sweater, ‘Mione?” asked George. Fred shot a glare in George’s direction. While his question appeared to be innocent, Fred knew it was an obvious jab at the fact that not only was Hermione not wearing something three times her size, but the sweater in question outlined her new curves so perfectly that Fred had to consciously keep his eyes trained on her face.

“Oh—” Hermione looked down at her outfit “—yes. My mum insisted we go shopping before I left. Got me a whole new wardrobe and everything. Something about putting me in better spirits or something.”

“Why would you need to be in better—”

“My, my, my, well if it isn’t Hermione Granger,” the voice of Sirius Black cut Fred’s question off. He watched as Hermione turned excitedly and spotted the older wizard leaning against the doorframe that led into the dining room. The witch crossed the room enthusiastically, allowing Sirius to envelope her in a tight hug.

“Sirius! It’s so good to see you!” exclaimed Hermione, letting out a small squeak when Sirius lifted her into the air.

“Same to you,” he said with an exaggerated groan before setting her back on her feet and holding her at arm’s length. “Look at you! Is this really the same mousy little girl that saved my life two years ago?” asked Sirius teasingly before leading her to the kitchen table.

“Hold on a minute. We haven’t heard that story,” said George. The comment caught Fred’s attention as well. While the two had been informed by both Ron after his third year and their mum and dad that summer that Sirius Black was not the man they thought him to be, they had never heard exactly how he officially escaped his capture.

“Really? She only traveled back in time and road on the back of a hippogriff to break me out of my cell,” said Sirius, looking down proudly at a flushing Hermione. “Would you like some tea dear?” he asked Hermione.

“We’ll get it,” said George, pulling a stunned Fred around and towards the counter. “Well that’s interesting.”

“Which part?” asked Fred, reeling from the combination of Hermione’s figure, and finding out that she _traveled through time_?

George chuckled at his comment and the pair began to make a nice afternoon tea. Merlin, being able to use magic whenever he wanted was so convenient, thought Fred as with just a few flicks of their wands, the tea was prepared, and a nice plate of biscuits was ready. Levitating the cups, teapot, sugar, milk, and biscuits to the table, they took their seats at the table as well.

“Now, tell us all the sordid details of this breakout and don’t hold _anything_ back,” said George firmly, reaching across the table and grabbing a biscuit.

Fred listened intently as Sirius began his story, grabbing a cup and preparing Hermione’s tea. She seemed surprised when he set the cup in front of her and even more surprised when she took a sip. The younger witch shot him a curious glance before taking another sip and grabbing a biscuit as well. What? Did she not think he remembered how she took her tea? wondered Fred before making his own.

By the end of his story, Sirius was smiling widely, Hermione was blushing furiously, and Fred and George were staring blankly. Ron, who had joined them halfway through, looked bored having already heard the story before from Harry and Hermione.

“Blimey,” said Fred, unsure of what else even to say. “Do you ever stop getting cooler, Hermione?” Fred’s ears grew hot in embarrassment, but the small smile Hermione gave him cooled the heat slightly.

“I’ve always been cool, Fred. Maybe you’ve just been too thick to notice.”

Fred gave a small chuckle, joined by the rest of the table. Just like that, the heavy weight of tension that had been present between him and Hermione since the moment she arrived lifted slightly.

“So, is anyone going to explain to me where I am exactly and what’s going on, or am I supposed to guess it at some point?” asked Hermione, looking around her with an exasperated look.

“I’m sorry kitten, I thought Arthur told you,” said Sirius.

Fred prickled. He didn’t quite like the way Sirius called her ‘kitten’.

“This—” Sirius motioned to the space around them “—is my childhood home. Left to me as the last living heir to the Black fortune. I volunteered it to Dumbledore for the Order.”

“The Order?” Hermione scrunched her brow in confusion.

“The Order of the Phoenix,” Ron chimed in, as if the name alone would be explanation enough.

“We’re like Death Eaters, but for the good side,” added George with a grin.

“Not yet you aren’t!” exclaimed their mum, striding into the kitchen with a scowl on her face.

Fred huffed in annoyance. He and George had been keen to join the Order ever since they learned about it, but their mum was adamantly against it. “Come on mum, we’re seventeen! It’s not _your_ choice anymore.”

“Like hell it isn’t. You watch your tone with me Frederick Weasley. As long as you live under _my_ roof, you do as I say. Is that clear?”

Fred and George rolled their eyes, turning back towards the table.

“There’s an Order meeting tonight Hermione,” said George. 

“You can learn all about it after. Most of the members usually stay for dinner,” added Fred. 

“In the meantime, don’t you want to check out your room?” George stressed the question, widening his eyes and tilting his head towards the door leading to the entry hall.

“Do I?—” Hermione gave them a confused look before her eyebrows lifted in realization “—I mean, yes, of course.” She stood from the table, moving to follow Fred and George out of the kitchen before stopping at the door and turning back to the table. “It was so lovely to see you again Sirius. Shall we catch up more later?”

“Absolutely kitten. Have fun…checking out your room.”

Fred grabbed Hermione around the upper arm, pulling her from the kitchen and back into the now silent entry hall. The portrait of Walburga Black was once again covered by the old sheet, but he watched as Hermione still gave it a wide birth. “Hold tight,” he said to the witch in his grasp before apparating them both up to his and George’s bedroom.

Hermione landed next to him, gripping the front of Fred’s shirt tightly in her fist as she doubled over, breathing heavily.

“Alright ‘Mione?” asked Fred, trying not to focus on the way she held onto him.

“You absolute BERK!” She released his shirt, reeling back to slap him across the chest. It stung a bit, but Fred laughed all the same, figuring he deserved it. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to apparate someone without telling them first?! It’s incredibly—oh god, I think I may be sick.”

“Come now, Hermione. That doesn’t sound like someone who time traveled and helped a convicted felon escape from authorities,” said George, walking past the two of them to open their trunks and begin pulling out products.

“Where did you even get a time-turner in the first place? Aren’t they regulated by the ministry?” asked Fred, walking over to gather his notes for Hermione.

“Professor McGonagall got it for me. She had to write a lot of letters to the ministry about how I was an exemplary student and wouldn’t use it irresponsibly. I signed up for every class, you see, and so the only way to take all of them was to use the time-turner.” Hermione had now straightened up. She looked a little less green as she walked towards them and peered down at products spread out across the bed.

Fred laughed. “If that isn’t the swottiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Watch it,” Hermione warned casually as she picked up a pair of extendable ears with equal fascination and revulsion. To be fair, the accurate imitation of flesh was a bit much, but that’s what Fred and George loved most about them.

“Speaking of swottiness—” George gave Fred an impish smirk before leaping forward and grabbing the large stack of parchment from Fred “—Fred made you this. It’s all our product designs, some of them old, some of them new, some of them not yet tested.”

“No notebook?” Hermione asked, exchanging for Extendable Ears for the stack of parchment, and looking at Fred with a teasing smile.

“Now, why would I give you _my_ notebook? No, these are your copies,” admitted Fred, looking intently at Hermione’s face as she sorted through the pile.

“You made me copies. I’ve never known you to be so…fastidious Fred. Wow, you two really have been busy,” said Hermione in amazement as she continued to sift through the large pile of parchment.

“Yes, well, that’s about seven months of missed inventing time, Miss Granger. A lot happens when you’re not going about snogging professional quidditch players,” stated George.

“I was not going about snogging Viktor!” cried Hermione in indignation, turning the color of a ripe tomato.

“You weren’t?” Fred found himself asking, before he could stop himself.

Hermione looked back to him shyly, running her hands over her hair to flatten it down. Fred kept his eyes trained on the girl’s face, fighting very hard to not let them drift down to view the magnificent way her sweater stretched when she lifted her arms. “I mean…” Hermione drifted off, earning a wolf whistle from George who she promptly sent a scathing glare at.

Fred felt the all too familiar sinking feeling in his stomach return, but this time mixed with the overwhelming urge to take Hermione in his arms and kiss her till all thoughts of Viktor Krum were gone from her memory. He looked away from her, distracting himself with the products on the bed as he tried to process his reaction. It wasn’t his place to be jealous. Hermione was a free and single girl – she was more than welcome to snog whoever she wanted – and _he_ had a girlfriend. He shouldn’t be jealous. He really shouldn’t be jealous. But he was.

A knock on their door pulled the three’s attention. The door opened to reveal Ron looking mildly annoyed.

“This isn’t your room ‘Mione. Yours is down the hall,” he said, crossing his arms and looking suspiciously at Fred and George.

“Hermione—” Ginny’s voice sounded from behind Ron “—come on! We’re sharing a room. I’ve got your bed all made up and everything.”

“Oh right. Fred and George were just showing me their summer homework,” Hermione replied, holding up the stack of notes in her hands.

Ron gave an obnoxious snort. “Sure. Come on, then. Before Ginny has a conniption.”

“Coming—” Hermione turned back to Fred and George “—I’ll have a look at these tonight.”

She turned, following Ron out of the room, and shutting the door behind her. It was silent in their room for a few moments as Fred stood staring at the place Hermione had just been.

“Merlin, did you see the baps on her!” George cried, sounding relieved to finally be alone just the two of them.

Fred couldn’t help but laugh against his better judgement, body shaking with chuckles as he turned to his twin who stared back at him with wide eyes.

“Come on now mate. It’s Hermione. Have some respect,” said Fred, flopping onto his bed and propping himself up against the headboard.

“Believe me, I have nothing but respect for them—” George followed his lead, lying down on his bed as well “—and in case you’ve forgotten, I’m a single bloke. I’m allowed to look. Couldn’t help but notice you _paying your respects_ earlier. What’s your excuse?”

“I suppose I was rather surprised is all. She was fit before—”

“Was she?” George questioned, giving Fred a cheeky grin.

“I mean—” Fred stuttered over his words “—yeah, a bit.”

“But now she’s more your type?”

“I’m not answering that.” Fred rolled over on his side, facing away from his twin.

“Oh, come on Freddie. I’m a simple question.”

“No, it isn’t. Not when you’re leading me on – trying to weasel a specific answer out of me,” accused Fred. The whole conversation was like watching two trains headed towards each other on the same track. He could see the inevitable ending from a mile away but could still do nothing to stop it.

“Me? Weasel? Never. I’m just curious as to whether Hermione’s new shapely form has you wishing you’d asked _her_ to the ball, instead of Angelina. That’s—”

“George, stop it.”

“—all. I’m sure now that she’s all filled out, she’d make a more than suitable girlfriend. The tits and ass would surely make up for her annoying bookish—”

“Oi! You’re my brother but say shit like that again and I’ll give the thrashing you deserve. You hear me?—” Fred turned over, glaring daggers at his brother in the bed beside him “—‘Mione’s got more to offer than just her body and in case you haven’t noticed, you benefit quite a lot from her annoying bookish personality. So just shut it.” He marked his words with a final sneer before turning back over and facing the door.

“Hmm, you’re right brother. My apologies.”

Fred didn’t need to see the smug expression on George’s face to know that he’d played right into his twin’s hands. He shouldn’t have let George’s goading get to him. He should have known that George was only saying those things to get him to slip up and admit something. George liked to play on Fred’s short temper. Always did. Staring hard at the dull dark wood grain of the bedroom door and the ornate trim that surrounded it, he wished more than anything he was in the comfort of their brightly colored bedroom back at the Burrow. At least there he could storm out, take his broom, and fly until he cooled down. But here, in the dingy, dark, confines of Grimmauld Place, he was trapped with his annoyingly perceptive twin one side of the door, and Hermione Granger on the other.

* * *

Hermione took in the sight of her shared bedroom in Grimmauld Place with perplexed curiosity. The ancestral Black home was unlike any other wizarding home she’d ever seen. Albeit she’d only ever been in one wizarding home before – the Burrow – and that, she was told, wasn’t necessarily “normal” as far as wizarding homes went. But still, the rich, dark atmosphere of Grimmauld Place and the things that inhabited it spoke depths on the history, ideals, and opulence of the Black family. She ran her fingers along the intricate carvings on the sleigh that was now temporarily hers.

“So, this is yours and my room! I made sure to get a bedspread you’d like and did my best to clean up. You wouldn’t believe the amount we spend cleaning these days, and the place still looks dirty all the time!” Ginny threw her hands up into the air in exasperation, walking over to her side of the room and kicking a dirty jumper into the corner.

“How long have you been here?” asked Hermione, sitting down on her trunk, which had already been placed at the foot of her bed.

“Pretty much since the day summer started. It’s been a real drag. I hoped to do a bit of flying this summer, you know, play a bit of quidditch. But this place only has a small garden and because we’re in the middle of muggle England, we can’t go too far in case we’re seen. I’m so glad you’re here now though, it’s nice to have another girl around besides mum, and Tonks on the occasion,” said Ginny, collapsing onto her bed and pulling a licorice wand out of her pocket. She took a large bite off the end of it and chewed it aggressively.

“Who’s Tonks?”

Ginny gasped dramatically, sitting up and turning over to face Hermione on her stomach. “She’s an Order member – auror for the ministry. She’s so cool. She’s a metamorphmagus so she can change her appearance to whatever she wants and she’s young so she’s always turning her hair purple or blue. Plus, she listens to the coolest music and wears the coolest clothes.”

“Sounds…cool,” said Hermione, flatly, brain still hazy from her interactions with Fred earlier. She certainly never expected to spend so much time with him from the moment she walked through the front door. Seeing and speaking with Sirius had been a nice distraction, but there was still how Fred made her tea perfectly and the way he quite literally pulled her from the room. To top it all off, he presented her with an itemized list of his invention notes. Was he purposefully trying to drive her crazy? He must be, she thought in exasperation, considering he looked even more handsome now than the last time she’d seen him. While his long hair was gone, she found the new professional cut to be even more handsome, despite her preferences. Then of course, there was the ridiculously sexy way in which his t-shirt hung on his biceps. Merlin help her, maybe she should have just gone to France with her parents.

“Hermione!” Ginny’s voice brought Hermione out of her mental fog. Looking up, she found Ginny giving her a curious look.

“What’s got you all lost in thought?” Ginny asked mischievously. “Is it a boy?”

“Why would you possibly think it’s a boy, Ginevra?” scoffed Hermione in indignation.

“Because you had this big dopey look on your face like you were fantasizing about Professor Lockhart in second year.”

“I did not!” Hermione picked up a pillow and threw it at Ginny who artfully dodged it.

“Yes, you did! Now, who could it be…not Viktor surely, since you dumped him royally at the end of the year.” She tapped the end of her chin in thought.

“I did not dump him. We parted ways amicably.”

“Okay, okay, whatever you say. Do I know the person?”

Hermione nodded weakly, unsure as to why she was playing along.

“Neville?”

Hermione shook her head no.

“Harry? It’s alright if you do, seeing as I’m going with Corner now.”

Hermione shook her head again, this time more aggressively.

Ginny gasped, “It’s not one of my brothers, is it?”

Hermione hesitated for a second too long, resulting in a gleeful exclamation from Ginny.

“Well let’s see. It’s not Bill or Charlie since you’ve only met them once, it can’t be Percy because you do have some taste, Fred’s currently halfway up Angelina’s arse, so that just leaves George and Ron!” Ginny smiled widely, clearly pleased with herself.

“I—” Hermione began but was cut off swiftly by Ginny.

“It’s Ron, isn’t it? I knew it! You know, I’m pretty sure he’s keen on you as well. Wouldn’t shut up about how you should be here while we were clearing the pixies out of the parlor.”

“He wouldn’t?” asked Hermione, caught off guard by Ginny’s offhand comment.

“Oh yeah. I think that’s why mum finally sent you the letter – to shut him up,” said Ginny, taking another bite from her licorice wand.

Hermione bit the inside of her lips and tried to come to terms with the fact that Ron might actually like her now. When had that happened and why hadn’t it been before she’d developed the biggest crush on one of his older brothers instead?

“I could help get you guys together, if you want.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione looked up at Ginny is surprise.

“You and Ron, while you’re here I could be like your wingman or something,” Ginny explained further.

“No, I understood what you said. Absolutely not Ginevra. You will _not_ be doing that.”

Ginny held her hands up in surrender. “Alright, suit yourself. No need to pop your top,” said Ginny, tossing the last of the licorice wand in her mouth and standing from her bed. “I’m going to see if there are any leftover biscuits from tea. I’m assuming you’ll want some too?”

Hermione smiled widely at the ginger haired girl, answering enthusiastically, “Yes please. You’re super _cool_.”

Ginny exited the room, holding up a middle finger at Hermione’s teasing.

Hermione chuckled lightly to herself, standing and opening her trunk. She began to unpack, realizing it was best to get a clear and organized environment if she were to be there for the remainder of the summer. She started with her clothes – taking each piece out carefully and placing them either in the free drawers of the room’s dresser or in the wardrobe next to Ginny’s few blouses and dresses. Her new clothes, while very pretty, were definitely out of her comfort zone. Her usual clothes were so large and relaxed that she practically swam in them and she liked it that way. They were comfortable. But her mother insisted that she was becoming an adult now and so she needed clothes that actually fit her. She was able to save a few of the pieces from her old wardrobe, like her favorite sweatpants, favorite striped sweater, and of course, Fred’s cardigan. But the rest had been sacrificed and replaced by the fitted, tailored pieces her mother picked out for her.

Picking up Fred’s cardigan from the bottom of her neatly packed clothes, she brought it to her face and marveled in the fact that it had somehow kept his scent. It shouldn’t still, after all those months, but it did. Feeling a chill run down her spine, Hermione glanced out the window and noticed the sky had turned a dark grey and the trees on the street leaned heavily in the wind. Great – a summer cold front followed by a storm. England sure did have fantastic weather, thought Hermione sarcastically. Without even thinking, she slipped her arms into the cardigan and wrapped it tightly around herself before returning to her unpacking. Ginny reappeared a short while later, bringing a plate piled high with an assortment of biscuits, and what looked to be two pumpkin pasties. Hermione grabbed a pasty, nibbling on it as she organized her books on the spare table in the corner. She finished her unpacking and was chatting idly with Ginny about Michael Corner when Ron knocked and entered.

“Well, it must be serious, Gin, if Dumbledore is getting the Order back together,” said Ron, shoving a biscuit into his mouth.

“Of course, it’s serious, Ron, You-Know-Who is _back_. Harry said so himself and he’d have no reason to lie about it,” said Ginny.

“I wish the rest of the ministry agreed with you on that. Have you seen the vile things they’ve been saying about Harry and Dumbledore in the Prophet, Hermione?” asked Ron.

Hermione sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, yes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say You-Know-Who already had his fingers buried deep in the ministry _and_ the prophet, but I don’t know how true that is,” she said, crumbling a biscuit in her hand.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Ginny curiously.

“Well, it’s quite clever what they’re doing. Isn’t it? Instead of coming right out and saying that Harry and Dumbledore are lying, they’re giving the readers subtle reasons as to why they should believe them to not be credible. A small jab here, a snide remark there. Throw in a few jokes and next thing you know, everyone’s laughing at dramatic, fame-seeking Harry Potter and his crazy aging mental mentor Albus Dumbledore.” The cookie was officially powder in her hands as she finished her theory. It had been circulating in her brain since the first time she’d seen signs of turning in the Prophet. It was another reason she felt so on edge these days.

“Dad says it’s Fudge. Says he doesn’t want to accept that You-Know-Who is back,” sneered Ron. He rolled his eyes and rubbed at the freckles on the side of his nose. Hermione stared at the spattering of brown for a moment, trying to find the same thrill in them as she did Fred’s, but only came back with disappointment.

“Fudge is an idiot. Everyone knows that,” spat Ginny, rolling her eyes as well.

“Who’s an idiot?” a voice popped in, the door opening slightly. George’s head came into view, peaking into the room from the neck up.

“Surely not us,” said Fred, his head popping up now too, just below George’s.

“Don’t rule yourself out so quickly,” said Hermione, sharing an impish smile with Ginny.

“Can you believe the cheek on this one?” asked George, striding fully into the room, followed closely by Fred.

“We just came to say order members started arriving five minutes ago,” said Fred, eyes flick back and forth from the hallway through the door and Hermione’s torso. Glancing down, Hermione saw his cardigan and wondered if he might finally want it back now. Was it inappropriate to wear another girl’s boyfriend’s cardigan?

“What?!” Ginny leapt to her feet, nearly knocking the plate of biscuits onto the ground. Luckily, Ron caught them before they could slip off the bed.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” asked Ron, standing as well, and placing the plate of biscuits onto the table before darting out of the room behind Ginny.

“I feel like I’m missing something here,” said Hermione, looking between Fred and George.

“We’re not allowed to attend the meetings, you see—” explained Fred.

“—so, we have to take what we can get from watching members arrive and listening to their conversations as they walk into the kitchen,” continued George.

“We usually watch from the top of the stairs and sometimes mum forgets to cast a silencing spell and we can use the Extendable Ears to listen in on what they’re saying.” Fred pulled a bundle of fleshy string connected to two life-like ears from his pocket and waved it in her face.

Hermione scrunched her nose, remembering the disgusting items from earlier that afternoon. Exiting her bedroom, she took a seat on the ground near the railing at the end of the hall. The spot looked perfectly over the stairs and the entry hall that she had walked through earlier. Silently they watched as a string of wizards and witches entered Grimmauld Place – some Hermione recognized and some she did not.

“Blimey, it’s Dumbledore,” said Ron.

Hermione turned her attention away from a vibrantly pink-haired woman, who she assumed was Tonks, to the door where, sure enough, Dumbledore stood. “Why is that a surprise? Isn’t he the founder of the Order?” she asked.

“Well he doesn’t show up to a lot of these meetings. He’s a busy man, Dumbledore. Only pops in when he has something really important to share,” said George, looking down at the silver-haired headmaster in contemplation.

“Albus, we weren’t expected you—” Mrs. Weasley greeted the elder wizard in surprise “—will you be staying for dinner?”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid Molly. No, I heard you’ve invited Miss Granger here for the rest of the summer. Is that correct?”

Ron, Ginny, and the twins turned their heads to stare at Hermione curiously. Hermione shrugged, just as surprised as they were to hear their headmaster speak of her.

“Yes, yes. She arrived this afternoon. I hope that was alright. I know Ron really wanted a friend here with him and Harry might—”

“It’s okay Molly. You’ve done nothing wrong. I was actually just hoping to speak with her and Ronald before the meeting began. If that’s alright?”

Hermione and Ron looked at each other for a moment. She wasn’t sure if Ron had come to same conclusion as her, but Hermione was almost one hundred percent positive that if Professor Dumbledore wanted to speak to them both, then it was probably about Harry.

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Weasley answered sweetly, before titled her head up and calling out to Ron and Hermione.

“What do they want with you two?” asked Fred, frowning slightly.

“Can’t be too certain, but it’s most likely about Harry,” said Ron with a shrug of his shoulders.

“It always is,” replied Fred and George in unison.

Ron and Hermione made their way down the stairs slowly, until finally they were standing in front of their headmaster. No matter how many times she spoke with the man, Hermione always found him incredibly intimidating. It never lessened.

“Ah! Miss Granger. Mr. Weasley,” Professor Dumbledore greeted them politely.

“Professor,” Hermione greeted him with a small nod.

“I was hoping I could have a quick word with the two of you. Perhaps, in the parlor?” Professor Dumbledore turned to Mrs. Weasley with questioning eyes.

“Yes, yes. It’s all cleared out now,” said Mrs. Weasley, ushering them to the parlor on the second floor before leaving them alone with their ever-intimidating headmaster.

They watched as the man circled the small space, inspecting the tapestries and portraits on the walls as his vibrantly purple robes dragged on the stained, emerald carpet. Hermione was beginning to feel as though she were responsible for starting the conversation, when Professor Dumbledore finally seated himself on a settee, so moth-eaten and threadbare, the springs were starting to peak through. He motioned for the two of them to take seats as well in the two parlor chairs opposite him.

“Now, I’m sure both of you are wondering why I wanted to meet with you.”

They nodded.

“Yes, well, as both of you are here now and will no doubt soon know most of the Order’s business, I thought it important to have a chat with you,” explained Professor Dumbledore with a small smile. He always smiled liked that, thought Hermione, like he was laughing at some small joke only he knew.

“We won’t tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about. I mean, besides Harry, we’re the only people we talk to during the summer,” promised Ron.

“Ah – well that’s exactly who you _cannot_ speak to about this,” said Professor Dumbledore, adjusting his half-moon spectacles.

“I’m not sure I quite understand, Professor,” said Hermione, pursing her lips.

“I’d be impressed if you did, Miss Granger. Even with your intellect, it is hard to understand something that has not been explained fully. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the ministry and the Prophet are not acknowledging Voldemort’s return—” Ron flinched at their headmaster’s use of You-Know-Who’s name, but Professor Dumbledore continued unfazed “—Fudge is growing increasingly paranoid as the days go by, I’m afraid. I would like to ask that neither of you tell Harry about where you are, and what you’re doing this summer until you can speak to him in person. It’s exceedingly important that you _do not_ write to him about any of this. Harry has been through a lot in the last few months; best to give him less to think about for a while.”

“You’re not worried about the ministry intercepting our letters, are you Professor?” asked Hermione, realizing the severity of the situation if it were true.

“Ah, you see Miss Granger, that is _exactly_ what I’m worried about. So, for now I ask that you keep your correspondence with Harry brief and to a minimum. Can you do that for me?”

“Absolutely Professor,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, of course Professor,” agreed Ron.

Professor Dumbledore released them after that, disappearing into the kitchen to the dining room where she was told the meetings were held. The rest of the evening was a blur, Hermione’s mind a clouded, foggy mess as she processed what Dumbledore had told them. For as little as he said, the implications behind his words spoke volumes. Fudge wasn’t just denying You-Know-Who’s return, he was growing paranoid. A paranoid, denial-ridden minister in a time such as this was a dangerous thing, thought Hermione.

“You look knackered ‘Mione. Perhaps you should go to bed?” a voice whispered lightly from beside her as she sat in the nearly empty dining room, staring into the roaring fire. Hermione looked up, vision slightly blurred and dotted with floating white orbs from staring too long into the flames. She blinked a few times, seeing Fred’s vision come into view. A small yawn escaped her lips and she nodded, looking around her to see what remained of the Order. Ginny and Ron laughed heartily as Tonks morphed her appearance into all kinds of silly things – she’d been doing it all night and yet the novelty of it had not worn off. Professor Lupin and Sirius were telling some story from their younger years to an entranced George, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were in the kitchen cleaning up.

“Come on, I’ll walk you,” said Fred, standing and offering his hand to Hermione. Hermione hesitated for a second, looking at the lines of Fred’s long fingers, before nodding and taking his hand. She supposed she was tired. More tired than she’d been in a while. Perhaps she might be able to get some actual sleep. The nightmares had been getting worse. Unsurprisingly, they’d picked back up the moment she’d started spending less time with the twins and more time worrying about Harry’s ability to survive during the tournament. Then, after the final task, after seeing Cedric’s lifeless body sprawled out on the grass as his father cried, they’d only gotten worse. The time spent at home only amplified it as well. It had been almost a month since she’d gotten a good night’s sleep. But, with the amount of time spent with the twins that day, she was almost positive that sleep would come easily and peacefully once again.

Hermione and Fred walked up the stairs to the third floor where their rooms resided. She was grateful that he did not apparate them straight up like last time and almost voiced as much. But instead, she opted to stay silent, allowing the soft, comfortable silence between them to last a little longer. This was nice. It almost felt like old times – when things weren’t so complicated and her and Fred were simply friends. When they reached her bedroom door, Hermione faltered, unsure as to why her feet kept her in place. She turned, looking up at Fred in the dimly, candle-lit hallway. The warm light of the candles turned his red hair to flames itself, igniting it in fiery reds and yellows. Harsh shadows streaked across his face, as the flicker of the flames passed his hazel eyes periodically. The goodnight she’d meant to give him, stuck in her throat and instead all she could do was stare up at him and marvel in how handsome he was.

“Thank you, Fred,” she finally managed to force the words from her drying throat.

Fred smiled down at her, reaching up and tucking one of her curls behind her ear. His touch lingered, the rough pads of his fingertips grazing the side of her cheek and sending shivers down Hermione’s body. She swallowed thickly.

“You know—” Fred began, pausing as if he was reconsidering his words “—you never told me how you can always tell me and George apart. Mum and dad almost never get it right and even our friends can’t do it. Merlin, even Angelina sometime—” He stopped, a pained expression on his face that gave Hermione’s heart a little jolt. How horrible it must be for everyone to always be confusing you for someone else. She wondered, for a moment, if he felt much like Ron did – forgotten, living in a shadow. Reaching up without thinking, she placed a hand to his cheek. Fred stiffened at her touch momentarily, but then relaxed into it, leaning his face ever so slightly into the palm of her hand.

“Well, it’s quite obvious really. Your eyes sit straight across, while George’s left one tilts down ever so slightly—” her fingers traced under his eyes lightly “—then of course there’s the line of your nose. Yours is straighter and you have a freckle, here, on the tip that George does not. And one here as well, above your top lip that George doesn’t have either.” Her fingers brushed across each of the freckles, her breath hitching when she got close to his mouth. Fred caught her wrist in his hand, holding it as he stared down at her with an inscrutable expression. Memories of his kiss all those months ago, flashed into the forefront of her mind and how she’d used that kiss to measure every kiss with Viktor. Nothing compared. Often times she’d lie awake at night and wonder if she’d be comparing every kiss for the rest of her life to the one she shared with Fred.

“You noticed all of that?”

“Of course,” breathed Hermione, pulse quickening.

“Why?”

This was all too much. She was getting too worked up over something she couldn’t have. She needed to get ahold of herself. Pulling from Fred’s grasp, she cleared her throat and looked down at Fred’s cardigan she still wore.

“I suppose, I really should give this back to you,” she said, hoping to break the spell between them.

And it did. Fred took a step back, creating space and looking down at the cardigan as well. He shook his head with a small smile before answering, “You’ve had it long enough now. I’d say it’s as good as yours.”

“Are you sure?” asked Hermione.

“Of course. I have loads. Looks better on your anyways—” Fred smirked, taking another step back “—Goodnight Hermione.”

“Goodnight,” Hermione mumbled, watching as Fred disappeared down the hallways and into his own room.

Hermione slipped into her bedroom and quickly changed into her pajamas, before sliding into the soft sheets of her bed. While they held a slightly musty smell from disuse, she could tell they were expensive. Sleep took her quickly. Visions of snow, lights, smart dress robes, and elegant dresses floating through her head as she dreamed. Good dreams.

But it was only a mere few hours later, in the early moments of the morning, before the sun even rose, that she sat up straight – heart beating wildly and brow sweat-slicked. With labored movements, she quietly slid out of bed, careful not to wake Ginny. She grabbed Fred’s cardigan and the pile of notes he’d made her before tiptoeing out of the room in search for a place to work. Surely in a house this size, they were bound to have a library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I wanted to give you all a heads up and let you know that my end of term projects and exams are coming up soon -- I will try to stick with my uploading schedule, but don't be surprised if I'm a day or two late in the next few weeks. 
> 
> Thank you all for your support and kind words and most importantly, your understanding! 
> 
> xoxo FanFictionaries


	15. Feelin' The Same Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when two people try way too hard to act normal?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!! Thank you so much for being SO patient. I definitely expected to have this up a the very latest yesterday, but alas that's not the way the universe intended it to be. HOWEVER, expect the next chapter at my normally scheduled time (I have a little fun something planned for next chapter)!
> 
> I hope you enjoy and as always feel free to leave kudos and comments. I LOVE interacting with you all!

* * *

_And I'm feelin' the same way all over again_   
_Feelin' the same way all over again_   
_Singin' the same lines all over again_   
_No matter how much I pretend_

* * *

“Now, why is it I’m not surprised to find you _here_?”

A deep and boisterous voice jolted Hermione fully awake. Sitting ramrod straight in the old squatty armchair, the pieces of parchment previously spread across her lap slid off, floating to the floor in all directions. She’d been dozing, stuck in a perpetual state of semi-consciousness since three in the morning. Never fully asleep. Never fully awake. Glancing at the old grandfather clock in the corner she saw it was nearly seven. Bringing a hand up, Hermione ran her fingers through the nest that was currently her hair, grimacing when she met several tangles and knots. Looking around her with bleary eyes, she found Sirius Black standing before her, arms crossed as he stared down at her in curiosity.

“Sirius, I—” she began to apologize, realizing only then that perhaps she wasn’t allowed to freely roam the house as she did the Burrow. But Sirius cut her off, giving her an amused look.

“Relax, kitten. You’re fine. I should have known you’d find the library before long. It’s lucky that you brought your own reading material though. Remus and I haven’t finished clearing the shelves for cursed books,” said Sirius casually, bending down to pick up one of the many pieces of parchment that lay at his feet.

Hermione stood, crossing the space between them, and snatching the parchment from his hand before scrambling to pick up the rest of the loose papers. She didn’t know how much Fred and George fancied sharing their inventions – even if it was with someone as innocuous as Sirius Black. “Cursed books?” she asked, hoping the question would distract the older wizard from her suspicious actions.

Whether it truly did or not, she couldn’t be certain. But either way Sirius took the bait with good humour, sitting casually on the couch in front of the library fireplace. He settled into the old cushions with a contended sigh, kicking his leather-booted feet up onto the coffee table and spreading his arms wide across the back of the couch. He sat with all the pomp and circumstance of a royal. Apparently, twelve years in Azkaban and another two on the run did nothing to quell his aristocratic upbringing and all the self-assuredness that came with it. The expensive material of his dark green button up shirt matched the extravagance of Grimmauld Place well, Hermione thought, – even if the house still held a generous layer of cobwebs. The Sirius Black that sat before her was nothing like the Sirius Black she’d known before. Even after observing him for quite some time the night before, his appearance still threw Hermione for a loop. He looked good – healthier. No longer was he the gaunt, crazy shell of a man she’d met a year and a half ago. Instead, he looked like he’d gained some weight back, the shadows under his eyes were nearly invisible, and there was a spark to him that was previously missing. Clearly his newfound freedom had done him good. Although, from the sounds of his heated statements at dinner the night before, you’d think he was still locked up in a cell. Sirius was none too pleased about being stuck in his childhood home. Hermione, while sympathetic, felt the very muggle sentiment of ‘Beggars can’t be choosers’ come to mind.

“Yes, cursed books—” Sirius twisted his face in a mixture of disgust and disdain “—meant to cause harm to anyone who touches them if their blood isn’t completely pure. Dear old mummy was many things, but tolerant of those unlike herself was not one of them. Of course, that shouldn’t surprise you. You had the pleasure of meeting her likeness yesterday.”

Hermione’s face twisted as well thinking about the horrible portrait and the vile insults the woman had screamed. _That_ had been Sirius’s mother? Suddenly his disdain for the Black family home made a bit more sense. “Yes, I remember quite well. She seemed lovely,” her words dripped with sarcasm as she dropped the pile of parchment down onto the coffee table and sat on the opposite end of the couch. She pulled Fred’s cardigan tighter around her body, fighting the slight chill of the early morning. It may have been the end of July, but last nights storm was still wearing off.

Sirius let out a barking laugh, throwing his head back. “Oh yeah. Real saint of a woman.”

“I can’t imagine how idyllic your childhood must have been.”

“Sunshine and rainbows my dear.”

“Does that mean you _did_ , in fact, get the pony you always wanted for your fifth birthday?”

“Just one pony? You clearly underestimate the generous nature of my family.”

“Oh of course. How silly of me.”

The pair chuckled lightly, sending fond smiles in each other’s direction. It truly was good to see Sirius in better circumstances and in better spirits, thought Hermione resolutely.

“So, what are _you_ doing this early in the library? Hoping to do a bit of early morning reading?” asked Hermione, putting an end to their clever repertoire.

“No, I was actually taking a morning sniff around the garden and a certain furry feline mentioned you were in here,” said Sirius with a wry grin.

“I was wondering where Crooks had gone. I haven’t seen him since last night when Kingsley Shacklebolt nearly toppled over him on his way to the loo,” giggled Hermione, remembering the way the large authoritative man had nearly fallen straight into Emmeline Vance’s lap.

“Yes, he’s been staying out of the way since. I sent him up to the attic to keep Buckbeak company for a while. Hope that’s okay.”

“I’ve learned it’s not really up to me to decide the comings and goings of my cat. The most I can do is make sure his food dish is full and offer the odd scratch behind the ear when he fancies it,” Hermione admitted.

“Well, that’s not unheard of for Kneazles – even part Kneazles like Crookshanks,” sniffed Sirius.

“Buckbeak is here then?”

“Yeah! Wish I could give him room to spread his wings a bit more. He had loads of space last year when we were on the run, but Dumbledore thinks it’s best if I stay put here. No matter how vile it is. Apparently, I’m the Ministry’s number one scapegoat.”

“Lucky you.”

“I know. It’s difficult being so popular—” Sirius smiled wryly and brought a hand up to rub at his neatly trimmed facial hair “—I’d set him free of course, but I worry the ministry might catch sight of him. That and we’ve become rather attached.”

“Shall I start drafting the marriage license?” Hermione asked, giving Sirius a cheeky look.

The older wizard’s shoulders shook as full body laugher racked him. “You’ve gotten funnier,” he observed.

“Bad influence,” Hermione responded, thinking fondly of Fred and George and her time performing mental gymnastics the previous year. Everything was a joke with the Weasley twins. Everything was a witty comeback, a good one-liner, a clever repartee.

“Not my godson’s, surely?”

“No, Harry’s not nearly as funny as me.”

“Hah! Now that I don’t believe. He’s too much like his father.”

Was he? Hermione wondered. Everything she’d heard about Harry’s father lead her to believe that he was more like Fred and George than Harry. Sure, Harry was good at quidditch, didn’t care much for schoolwork, and had a special fondness for sarcasm, but despite his best efforts he tried his best to fly under the radar.

“How is he, by the way? My godson that is.” Sirius shifted, turning towards her, and taking on a more serious tone.

“Okay, I think. Last I heard from him was a week or so ago. He’s miserable at his aunt and uncle’s but that’s to be expected—” she paused, considering whether to say the next part “—Dumbledore told Ron and me not to write to him too much. At least not about anything serious. He doesn’t want to worry him after…well after everything that’s happened.”

“That’s a load of dragon shite,” scoffed Sirius. “He’s old enough and Merlin knows he deserves to know what’s going on more than anyone.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. Sirius wasn’t wrong. Harry did deserve to know the truth. Glancing again at the clock, she saw the large hand was now pointing decidedly south. People would start waking up soon.

“Well, I’ll have to pay Buckbeak and Crooks a visit sometime today—” Hermione stood, picking up her stack of parchment and stretching. The muscles of her back ached in protest; sleeping upright really did nothing for her spine “—perhaps my cat will pay me the kindness of putting up with my presence.”

Sirius laughed again, standing himself but lingering behind as she made her way to the door. Hand on the large brass handle, Hermione paused. There’d been something on her mind since the night before. Sitting around the table as order members chatted and filled themselves with Molly’s famous roast dinner, the overwhelming darkness of their situation slipped through the cracks of mild-mannered joviality. She couldn’t ignore the whispered snippets of conversations carried over from the Order’s meeting or the way they looked at each other as each member left for the evening – as if the weight of some grave responsibility rested upon them; as if it might be the last time they saw each other.

“Things are different now, aren’t they,” she murmured the words, still staring down at the handle in her grasp. She knew Sirius would be honest with her. He was always honest with Harry – to a dangerous level in her opinion. Somehow, he didn’t see them as children the way everyone else did. A fact she was both hesitant about and grateful for. The room was quiet, almost too still, as Hermione waited for him to answer. Surely, he expected her to say something. How could she not? What was going on, this war, it affected her differently. Certainly not in the way that it did Harry, but still. As a muggleborn, as a…mudblood, she was more vulnerable than most and she’d certainly done nothing in her life to fly under anyone’s radar.

“I’m afraid so, kitten,” Sirius sighed, and she didn’t need to turn around to know that his shoulders were no doubt slumped in exhaustion. War was a tiring thing.

“Should I be worried?”

“No,” Sirius answered, too quickly for Hermione’s liking. “The only thing you should be worried about right now is continuing to outwit every poor sod at Hogwarts.”

Hermione turned then, looking over her shoulder and giving the older wizard a reproachful look.

“Hogwarts is the safest place for anyone these days, Hermione.”

“Are you so sure about that?” Hermione left Sirius with the question hanging in the air, turning, and exiting the library with haste. She knew the statement was entirely out of character. Perhaps Sirius was unaware of that, considering he knew very little about her. But she couldn’t help but be shaken by her own doubt in Hogwarts and the abilities of their headmaster. She had a bad feeling about the upcoming year. Maybe her endless nightmares were turning her sour and cynical. Maybe she’d read too many bias-ridden articles in the Daily Prophet. Or maybe it was watching her best friend cry over the dead body of a fellow student.

“Wotcher, ‘Mione,” called a voice in surprise as Hermione collided with a tall, unyielding body. Bringing out a hand to stabilize herself, she was met with the shock of damp skin. Once her vision focused, she realized in even more shock that she was currently touching the bare expanse of a pale and freckled chest. Wide and firm, the muscles flexed under her fingertips. Please don’t be him, please don’t be him, she chanted in her head before looking up slowly. Drats. Of course, it was Fred’s chest she was currently groping. She should move her hand away. She really should. But she couldn’t. He was unfairly handsome with his hair freshly washed, droplets of water running from the wet strands at the nape of his neck down his shoulder and meeting her hand in heavy rivulets. He smelled good as well – warm and spicy and fresh like soap and myrrh with just a dash of peppercorns. Damn him. 

“We really need to stop meeting like this,” joked Fred, stepping around her and walking backwards towards his room. “Where’ve you been this early?”

“Just looking over your notes.” Hermione held up the parchment and watched as Fred’s eyes lit up.

“Wicked! Want to go over them before breakfast?”

“Um, sure. I just need to go and change.”

“Yeah, yeah. Take your time. Do all your girly stuff and meet me and George back in our room when you’re done.” Fred smiled and it took everything in Hermione’s power not to drool. It should be illegal to walk around this house in nothing but your trousers.

Still, she was going for normal. So, she opted for letting out a very unladylike snort instead. “Girly stuff?”

“Sure—” Fred shrugged “—you know. Hair, makeup, outfit, terrorizing small villages—whatever takes you lot so long to get ready.”

“Are you under the impression girls need to strike fear into the hearts of innocent people before they can drink their morning cuppa?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. You certainly scare me,” said Fred, widening his eyes teasingly.

“Hmmm good. Give me ten, alright?”

“Only ten?!” cried Fred disbelievingly as he turned away from him.

“It’s a nearby village!” Hermione called after him, earning herself a loud guffaw from the Weasley twin.

She tried not to let Fred’s laughter go to her head. Sirius had just been stroking her ego in the library; Fred’s reaction was nothing but equal to that surely and she didn’t get all flustered from Sirius’s compliments. However, only five minutes later Hermione caught the sight of her stupidly pleased grin in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. She rinsed her toothbrush and set in down to dry. Gripping the sides of the porcelain sink in her hands she braced herself against it and stared hard into the mirror.

“You can’t have him Hermione. He has a girlfriend,” she told herself quietly feeling an overwhelming sense of dread. “An incredibly tall, gorgeous, talented girlfriend that you don’t even hold a candle to. Why would he want you? He probably likes her because she spends all her free time doing cool things like quidditch,” said Hermione, voice taking on a woe is me tone.

Continuing to stare into the mirror, she assessed her appearance. George had been astute in his assessment of her the day before; she _had_ gotten taller. Her father remarked that this was probably the tail end of puberty making its mark as she now surpassed her mother’s height by two inches. Her mother agreed with this statement when Hermione begrudgingly admitted she was in desperate need of new bras. It wasn’t just her body that had changed either, she mused staring hard at the angles of her face. She’d lost some of the roundness to her face, the softness of adolescence melting down to sharper angles. The cut of her cheekbones was more pronounced, her jawline was harder, and her chin had more of a point to it. Despite the changes, Hermione couldn’t help but still feel very plain. Sure, she was much prettier than the year before and even more so than the years before that, but she didn’t compare to the other girls at Hogwarts. She didn’t have Lavender’s pretty blonde waves, Pavarti’s smooth flawless skin, Fay’s high cheekbones, or Emmy’s sparkling blue eyes.

And those were just the girls in _her_ year, sulked Hermione as she exited the bathroom and popped back into her bedroom to drop off her toiletries. There were the older girls too. The ones with more confidence and more experience. How was she supposed to compare to someone like Angelina Johnson? The Gryffindor seventh year had a good four inches on her, and it was all leg. Not to mention she was about as athletically fit as a girl could get. Hermione’s body wasn’t awful she thought, she had gotten more curves over the last few months and she was considerably thinner these days. But that was due more to the lack of sleep and stress. She didn’t have lean muscles from hours working out of the quidditch field.

“I could play quidditch if I wanted,” Hermione said petulantly to herself.

“Hah! Good one.”

Hermione turned in surprise to see Ginny entering their room. Great.

“I’ve seen you on a broom Hermione and while I love you dearly, you’re completely rubbish,” said Ginny very sweetly but honestly.

Hermione sighed.

“Why is it so bloody cold in _July_?” asked Ginny. The younger girl gave an exaggerated shiver and dug into the contents of her dresser before pulling out a thick pair of socks.

“I’m sure it will wear off soon. The weatherman said we’re due for a heatwave soon before I left home,” Hermione informed her, grabbing her wand, and tucking the stack of notes under arm.

“Weatherman? Like on the television?” asked Ginny curiously. Ginny had chosen Muggle Studies as one of her electives – really to please her father than for her own amusement. Hermione had been helping her and she was picking things up surprisingly well.

Hermione nodded, looking down at her own sock ladened feet. Reaching once again for Fred’s cardigan, she stopped herself. He did say it was hers now, but wearing it so often felt a bit like overkill. She was _supposed_ to be acting like she wasn’t in love with him. So, instead Hermione dug into the wardrobe and pulled out one of her new jumpers – a green knit pullover that fit well over her t-shirt. She paused to put it on before heading for the door.

“Where are you off to this early?” asked Ginny, sitting down on her bed, and pulling out a copy of Seeker Weekly. She flipped through the pages casually.

“Summer homework,” Hermione lied.

“Have fun,” Ginny called after her, although her intonation implied that she thought nothing about doing summer homework sounded fun.

Hermione crossed the hall, knocking on the twins’ door lightly.

“Come in!” one of the twins called from the other side. Hermione turned the doorknob, cautiously entering the room. Her eyes darted back and forth for any signs of suspicion. You never knew with Fred and George. Hermione always had to be on her guard. During their time together at school, she found they were respectful enough to keep her out of their pranks as she was helping them. But that didn’t mean she was exempt from the odd exploding ink bottle or charmed book.

“Guard down, Hermione. You’re here on business – no pranks today,” said George in good humor.

Hermione relaxed a little, stepping fully into the room and crossing to where Fred and George sat on their bed.

“So—” she began, slipping into the business-like manner she usually took when she worked with them on their inventions “—I’ve read through your notes and I have to say I’m quite impressed boys.”

“You read through them _all_? Already?” asked George in disbelief.

“Are you that surprised?” snorted Fred. “Go on ‘Mione. I believe you were saying something about us being devastatingly handsome geniuses?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and took a seat on the bed as well, crossing her legs and sorting through the parchment. “Alright, walk me through it.”

The pair of them looked at her in confusion, side-eyeing each other before responding in unison, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m sensing a theme in some of these products. So, walk me through it. What’s your elevator pitch, so to say?”

“Our what?” asked Fred, scratching the back of his head.

“Honestly, and you two call yourselves aspiring businessmen. An elevator pitch is a short speech you give to explain your idea or product. For example, imagine you’re in a lift at the ministry and an investor walks in and you only have the few minutes during your ride to convince them to give you money for your product. Elevator pitch,” Hermione explained, watching at understanding washed over their faces.

“Brilliant, these muggle things,” smiled Fred, looking to George.

“Right, well how many times have you wanted to skive off class or get out of a meeting or event but didn’t have a proper excuse?” began George, putting on all the airs of a professional showman.

Hermione’s opened her mouth to say that she’d never once considered skiving off class, but Fred cut her off.

“We’re speaking to the general public here ‘Mione. Keep your personal biases to yourself, please.”

Hermione snapped her jaw shut, screwing her mouth to the side.

Fred smiled smugly before picking up where George left off, “You wished you had the excuse of a sick day, but your acting skills just aren’t up to scratch.”

“Instead of agonizing over how you’re going to properly convince Madame Pomfrey you’ve got a pounding headache—”

“—or prove to your boss that you really have been on the toilet all day—”

“—try a sweet from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes’ Skiving Snack Box!” cried George.

“Fever Fudge.”

“Fainting Fancies.”

“Puking Pastilles.”

“Nosebleed Nougat!”

The pair were really getting into it now.

“All you’ll need to get out of any class, appointment, or event—”

“—with none the wiser.”

They ended their speech with wide smiles, clearly pleased with themselves. Hermione looked at them for a moment. As much as she didn’t agree with the implied usage of the products, she couldn’t deny that many students would want them.

“How…how do you like it?” Fred asked, looking nervous as Hermione considered them.

She smiled. “I think you’re going to sell out before you’ve even finished making them,” Hermione answered honestly. “But—” she continued, putting a pause to their mounting excitement “—we have a lot of work to do before then. There are large gaps, and it looks like the only one you’ve made any progress with is the nosebleed nougats.”

“Yeah, about those—”

“You haven’t figured out how to stop the bleeding, have you?” Hermione asked, cutting George off. Although, the question was really more of a statement.

“How did you know?” asked Fred.

“It’s all in the notes, Frederick,” said Hermione exasperatedly, jabbing a finger into the pile of detailed drawings and messy handwriting. Merlin, this was going to be a long morning.

“What about banewort?” suggested George, an hour later. They’d put as much brainstorming into the Nosebleed Nougats as they could for the time being, finally settling on ground mustard root as the best possible clotting agent to stop the bleeding. Now they’d moved onto Fever Fudge.

“Only if you want to kill your customers!” exclaimed Hermione, shooting George a look of exasperated disbelief. She paced the floor of the bedroom, wracking her brain for what could possibly induce fever without causing permanent harm…or death.

“That’s nightshade mate,” she heard Fred whisper to George.

“How was I supposed to know that?” George whispered back.

“I don’t know, maybe five years of potions classes?” said Fred sarcastically.

“You’re the one that got an Acceptable in potions!”

“Yes, but _I_ failed Herbology!”

“Can you two _please_ shut it for just a second? Please?! I’m trying to think…” Hermione continued to pace, feeling her hair growing in size. It always did when she was frazzled.

“Oh! Hermione!”

“I said shut it!” Hermione growled, spinning on the spot, and glaring a hole through Fred.

Fred stared back at her in surprise before crossing his arms and sitting back. “Fine,” he said with contempt.

Hermione immediately regretted her outburst. “What is it Fred?” she asked with an exhale.

“Nothing.”

“It was clearly something.”

“Yes, but then you yelled at me.”

“You’re being a child.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“Just spit it out Frederick!” Hermione picked up a pillow from the empty bed and hurled it towards Fred, knocking the petulant expression off his face. It was immediately replaced by a mischievous smile and Hermione’s blood ran cold. Before she could even take a step, Fred had leapt from the bed and lunged for her. In the last second, Hermione darted out of his way bounding onto the empty bed and landing on the other side, so the distance of a mattress lay between them. She picked up another pillow and held it defensively in her hands.

“Go on, throw another pillow. I dare you,” challenged Fred, leaning lighting on the mattress in front of him, fingertips steepled on the dark grey duvet.

“Tell me what you were going to say,” Hermione said back, feeling her blood race through her veins, heart beating loudly in her ears as she stood light-footed, waiting for Fred to pounce.

“Throw the pillow.”

“Tell me.”

“Throw the pillow!”

“Tell me!” shouted Hermione, swinging the pillow back and chucking it across the bed with all her strength. Unsurprisingly, Fred caught the pillow easily and Hermione let out a shrill scream. She turned, darting for the door, but Fred vaulted the bed and reached her just as her fingers brushed the brass of the doorknob.

The burly ginger’s arms wrapped themselves around her middle and hoisted her up into the air as she kicked and yelled, “Put me down Frederick!”

“Such a violent little lion! No wonder they sorted you into Gryffindor! Is that the best you can do?” asked Fred, throwing her down onto the bed. Hermione bounced, the mattress surprisingly springy for its age. Huffing, she blew the hair out of her face just in time to see Fred swinging a pillow down at her. She brought her hands up in front of her face, blocking the strike and grabbing hold of the pillow tightly. With a hard tug, Fred came toppling down over her, but still the fight was on. In a mess of knees and elbows they grappled over the pillow, laughter bubbling up from their chests. Soon the real reason for their confrontation was forgotten and instead each party fought simply for the sake of winning.

“Aha!” Fred exclaimed triumphantly as he successfully pinned both of Hermione’s wrists down on the bed. Hermione breathed hard, glaring up at Fred and realizing she’d been bested. She gave one last effort to break free, bucking and twisting her body, but remaining weighed down by the boy above her. Hermione let out a groan of frustration.

“Now, now. Don’t be such a poor loser, ‘Mione. Maybe this’ll teach you to not start fights you’re no match for.”

“In case you’ve forgotten I terrorized an entire village this morning before I got here. You’re barking if you think I’m frightened by you Frederick Weasley.” 

They both laughed, hearty full body guffaws, at the inside joke until their sides ached and they simmered down into small giggles that forced past their lips. In that moment Hermione was struck by just how full Fred’s bottom lip was. She stared at it, unwillingly, before her eyes flickered back up to find Fred looking down at her. He looked at her very much the same way he had the night of the yule ball and then again in the hallway the night before.

A throat cleared from inside the room and their heads snapped to the side to see George still sitting on the other bed, looking at them like he’d just witnessed a unicorn walk through the door on its hind legs eating a bag of crisps. Hermione looked back up at Fred and then at their bodies closely pressed together with sinking realization. Fred jumped off of her, nearly toppling onto the ground as he did so. Hermione in turn, half scooted, half crab walked across the bed until she was flush with the headboard. She could already feel a brilliant flush forming on her face as the room stood silent, Fred staring hard out the window, George smiling widely in scandalous amusement, and Hermione glancing nervously between the two and the door. It was on her third pass over the door that it swung open, revealing a very annoyed Ron.

“There you are! Come on, mum’s got breakfast ready and then she has a whole list of chores,” grumbled Ron, leaning against the doorframe giving the three of them an odd look. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing! Let’s go down for breakfast, I’m starving.” Hermione scurried off the bed and towards the door, thanking Merlin and those who came before and after him for Ron’s impeccable timing.

What was that?! she asked herself as she descended the stairs, letting Ron’s whinging over chores fill the space her thoughts could not. Her body felt hot and flushed. She reached for the bottom hem of her jumper and lifted it over her head, extricating herself from the suffocating layer. Suddenly the day wasn’t so chilly. In fact, a cold shower sounded quite swell.

Ron may have given her a perfectly timed exit from the room, but there was no escaping the self-satisfied grin on George’s face at breakfast. Of course, he found the whole thing amusing. It was only her pitifully pathetic crush on his brother and her complete lack of self-control when it came to Fred pushing her buttons. She should have never thrown that pillow. Surely, they both knew now. At the very least George knew. At worst Fred knew. It was most likely why he wouldn’t look at her. Why he sat at the opposite end of the kitchen table. She could kick herself. Barely a day with the Weasleys and she’d made an absolute fool of herself. Good going Granger.

* * *

Fred was mortified to say the least. Barely a day with Hermione and he had completely lost his mind. What on earth had possessed him to manhandle her like that? And in front of George no less. He’d never hear the end of it now. He could already hear his brother’s self-righteous words in his head: What about Angelina? What about Ron? I thought you said you _didn’t_ have feelings for Granger. Lying to your twin brother now, Freddie?

What an absolute nightmare. He couldn’t even look at her, too afraid of the reproachful stare she was sure to give him. She must think him a real tosser now. Fred Weasley, the boy with a girlfriend, wrestling around with his little brother’s girl? She isn’t his girl though, said a small little voice in the back of his head. Yeah, but she’s as good as and once again I have a girlfriend, Fred answered back. He could do with a hard pillow to the head now, he reasoned – anything to get his mind off the way Hermione’s body had felt under his. The softness of her as she laughed sweetly below him, hair fanned out on the mattress. If he thought the memory of their kiss last Christmas was hard to forget, then this might as well be permanently branded onto the inside of his skull.

He spent the rest of the day avoiding her, choosing the chores on his mother’s list that were sure to keep him the busiest and furthest away from the bushy-haired fifth year. Unfortunately, that meant he was pruning the overgrown Shrivelfig tree in the garden and mucking out Hippogriff dung in the attic. They were tasks that would have taken him easily no time at all with magic, but he decided to leave his wand behind seeing the hard and nasty work as both a time consumer and a strange form of penitence for his previous behavior that morning. Maybe if he wore himself out, he wouldn’t be so bloody horny.

“Alright there, Freddie?” asked George, tinkering with a spitting teapot when Fred finally emerged from the attic and back in their room.

“Piss off,” Fred grumbled. He was tired, sticky, and smelled like Hippogriff dung. The last thing he wanted to hear was the bout of teasing George had undoubtedly been saving up since that morning.

“Someone’s in a mood again. I thought maybe all that physical exertion would have left you in better spirits.”

“You know, surprisingly, spending the day knee deep in Shrivelfig juice and Hippogriff shite really hasn’t left me too chuffed,” Fred bit back. He pulled his filth-covered shirt off and threw it on the floor before searching for his towel.

“Now brother, you and I both know that isn’t at all what I was referring to,” said George condescendingly. He placed the teapot down on the desk and gave Fred a knowing look.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” responded Fred, finding his towel underneath a pile of brightly covered packaging. He gave it a good shake before slinging it over his shoulder and making his way to the door. He needed a shower.

“You can’t avoid this forever!” George called after him.

“I said piss off!” Fred called back, only earning him a great roar of laughter from George as he slammed the door behind him.

He saw Ginny in hallway as he stormed towards the bathroom. The poor girl became another victim of his bad temper as he lifted two very rude fingers when she’d wrinkled her nose and told him he smelled like Bubotuber puss on a hot day. She called him a berk in return which Fred allowed, because she was right. Why couldn’t George just leave it alone? He’d been dogging Fred for nearly a year now about Hermione and it was grating on his nerves more than ever. No matter how many times he told his twin he didn’t fancy the girl, he still pressed on. It’s because he knows you’re lying, thought Fred irritably. Twins – they knew too much. Although Fred reasoned if George truly knew everything about him then he’d know well enough to let it be. Fred was dating Angelina. Ron liked Hermione. Hermione liked Ron. End of story.

The cold water did nothing to simper Fred’s foul mood. He carried it with him all through dinner, snapping at Ron twice and earning him a sharp dressing-down from his mum. So, when dinner was over, he opted to skip dessert and head upstairs instead, shooting George a look that said, ‘If you follow me, I’ll kill you’. Thankfully, George heeded his warning and left Fred to do as he pleased. He spent most of the night making fake wands. When he finished with that, he attempted to see how long he could balance items on top of each other using a simple levitation spell. His best time was thirty minutes and twenty-eight seconds, levitating the desk, a chair, and three books all on top of a single galleon, before they toppled over in a large crash. His mother’s scolding yell traveled all the way up from the ground floor and put an end to his little game. Finally, when the sun had set for the day, he reasoned he could go to bed. Maybe a fresh start would set him right. But the world was cruel and so sleep evaded him like the plague. Sitting up after nearly an hour of tossing and turning, Fred threw back his covers and grabbed his notebook and a few books from the desk before storming out of the room.

To his great relief the library was empty when he entered. The clock in the corner told him it was nearly ten at night. Everyone was probably in bed or headed there. George of course had been nowhere in sight when he’d left their room, but he was probably listening to one of Sirius’s old war stories. Turns out Sirius Black had been quite the prankster in school as well – much like Fred and George, though not nearly as committed as they were, Fred thought. Sitting down on the couch, he grabbed the moth-eaten afghan from the back and draped it over his lap then opened his book and began to read. Fully immersed in a chapter on boils and their healing droughts, Fred failed to hear the library doors open.

“Oh!” a startled voice broke him from his concentration, and he looked up to find Hermione standing before him. “I didn’t think anyone else would be up this late,” said the witch bashfully.

Fred glanced to the clock again to see the hands pointed to nearly one in the morning. Had he really been reading for that long?

“I can…I’ll just go,” stuttered Hermione, turning to exit the library.

“No,” said Fred a bit too forcefully before clearly his throat and evening his voice. “I mean, I can leave if you want the space to yourself.” He made to rise from the couch.

“Oh, don’t do that. You were here first. I don’t mind sharing if you don’t,” said Hermione, chewing on her bottom lip in an irritatingly distracting manner.

Fred swallowed thickly. A small part of him _did_ care. It cared very deeply. But he needed to act normal. Friends could read in the same library as each other. So, he put on his best impression of calm and unbothered when he answered, “Not at all.”

He relaxed back into the couch, surprised when Hermione seated herself on the other end. Maybe he hadn’t offended her as badly as he thought he had. If he had, he assumed she would have taken the chair instead.

“It’s a bit chilly in here.”

“Want me to light a fire?” Fred asked.

“Could you?” 

Fred nodded his head, reaching for his wand only to realize he’d left it in his room. “I don’t have my wand,” he said sheepishly.

“Oh, that’s alright,” responded Hermione, curling her legs underneath her and opening her book.

Fred glanced down at the blanket covering his lower half. “Do you want the blanket?”

Hermione looked up from her book. “Wouldn’t you be cold?” she asked hesitantly.

Fred shrugged. Probably, he thought, but the least he could do is put up with a bit of cold for her.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it,” she said flippantly.

“Just take the blanket. It’s no big deal.”

“Really, I’ll be okay Fred.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about it.”

“I’m not!”

“At least take part of it,” cried Fred, internally groaning when he realized what he’d said. Why did she have to push his buttons so well? It made him forget himself.

“What? You mean like share it?”

Fred hesitated. He was balancing a thin line. If he backtracked now then it would make it seem like he had some reason for not wanting to share the blanket, but if he pushed too far then it might imply some ulterior motive.

“If you want. Blankets big enough for two.” He shrugged nonchalantly. Hermione stared at him and then the afghan for a few moments, most likely weighing the pros and cons of sharing a blanket with her friend’s creepy older brother. Finally, she scooted closer on the couch, having made her decision. Fred sagged in relief, untucking the blanket from around his legs and draping it across Hermione’s lower half as well. They were closer now but not too close, the space under the afghan heating up quickly from their combined body heat. Fred had to admit, it was nice – being warmer that is. It was quiet as they read. Or at least as Hermione read. Fred couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting to the witch besides him, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She was wearing his cardigan again. It hung on her in an unfairly attractive way. His mind drifted to images of her wearing his cardigan and nothing els—stop, he scolded himself. Looking back down at his book, he tried to focus on the words in front of him but instead all he could think about was the uncomfortable tension between them. He needed to do something to put things right again.

“Pigeon berry,” he said, breaking the silence.

“What?” Hermione looked up from her book in confusion.

“For the Fever Fudge – pigeon berry.”

“Really?” said Hermione in surprise, but not in a rude way – in the way she always sounded surprised when a thought was brought up, she had not previously considered. Fred had come to know the tone quite well the previous year.

“Yeah, it has similar effects as nightshade but it’s not nearly as dangerous.”

“It can still be lethal though,” countered Hermione.

“I thought of that—” Fred closed his book and placed it on the coffee table, reaching instead for his notebook and opening it to the notes he’d made earlier that night while the thoughts were still fresh in his mind “—if we concentrate it to get an exact potency and then use small amounts, diluting it with Moondew, we should be able to get the side effects without it being dangerous.”

Hermione scooted closer, looking down at his notes in hard concentration. After a moment, she looked up at him with a wide smile. “That’s brilliant Fred,” she breathed.

Fred shrugged. He’d been doing that a lot that day. One would think he was trying too hard to act cool.

He fully expected Hermione to move away from him once she’d had her fill of his notes, but she didn’t. Instead she stayed nearly glued to his side, their legs and arms touching under the blanket as she returned to her book. They read on for a while longer until Hermione broke the silence with a large yawn. He watched her bring a hand over her mouth and then shake her head back and forth, blinking rapidly as she tried to stay awake. She should go to bed, thought Fred. She looked bone tired. The shadows he’d seen hints of since she arrived were more prominent than ever under her eyes and there was a desperate bloodshot look to the whites of them.

“Why don’t you go to bed ‘Mione?” he suggested lightly.

Hermione shook her head. “No. I can’t.”

“You sure about that? ‘Cause it looks like you’re about ready to pass out any moment.”

Hermione shook her head again. “I can’t…I-I don’t want to. I’ve been…I’ve been having nightmares again,” she whispered her admittance, staring through her book now more than at it.

“Do you wanna’ talk about it?” Fred asked hesitantly, remembering their conversation in the hospital wing the year before and how she’d told him about her nightmares then too.

Hermione was silent and Fred waited patiently as she mulled over his invitation.

“I’m scared,” she finally confessed, closing her book, and laying her head on his shoulder. Fred stiffened for a second, surprised by the intimate action, but then relaxed, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, and comforting her as best he could.

“To tell me about your nightmares?” he asked dumbly.

Hermione gave a small hollow laugh. “No, about everything – You-Know-Who, Harry, the war.”

“Everyone’s scared, ‘Mione. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Really?” questioned Hermione, lifting her head from his shoulder, and looking up at him with those large Firewhisky eyes.

“Anyone with good sense is at least. Probably why Percy’s not. He’s not speaking with mum and dad right now actually. Did Ron tell you that?” He didn’t know why he felt like that was the moment to share his family drama, but it seemed to work as a good opening up point. Hermione relaxed further into his chest.

“No. Why?”

“Well, Percy’s in full support of the Minister. Thinks Dumbledore is barmy and thinks mum and dad are equally as barmy for continuing to support him. He told them as much too. It caused a big row. Mum and dad try to play it off to the rest of us like there’s nothing to worry about, but we’re not dumb. I know they’re worried about what’s going to happen now that You-Know-Who’s back. I’ve walked in on them arguing in the kitchen a couple times already this summer.” He could still remember the seething voice of his mother and the tired expression on his father’s face before they both smiled at him, mum asking if she could get him anything.

“Dumbledore asked us not to write Harry about this place and what we’re up to. He thinks the Ministry is going to start intercepting mail.”

“Hmm,” responded Fred, not surprised by that at all.

“It feels strange to be going back to school while all of this is going on. Everyone’s always said the safest place is Hogwarts and I’ve always believed that, but it’s getting harder. I just can’t shake this horrible feeling that things are about to take a turn for the worst.”

Fred didn’t know what to say, which was odd because he usually had something to say about everything. But in that moment, he was at a loss for words – mainly because he felt the same way. He tried not to think about it, but it was always there sitting at the back of his mind. They were quiet for a while, both staring into nothing in the quiet stillness of the library. The lamps were getting low now, the light becoming dimmer as time ticked by and the oil burned down. The weight of Hermione’s head on his shoulder became heavier and he glanced down to see her eyes closed, long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. Her lips were parted as she breathed deeply.

“Hermione,” he whispered softly, rubbing her arm, and giving her a gentle shake.

“Hmm?” she roused slightly, crinkling her nose in sleepy irritation.

“Time for bed,” Fred whispered, trying again to softly wake her.

“Just a little longer, please?” Hermione mumbled, turning her face, and snuggling into him further. Fred sighed. He was strong, but not strong enough to say no to that.

“Okay, ‘Mione. Just a few more minutes.”

The room was considerably lighter. That was the first thought Fred had upon opening his eyes and taking in the library around him. Sitting there, Hermione snuggled into his side, his own eyes had begun to droop heavily. He had closed them for only a second and then next thing he knew he was horizontal on the couch as the sun peaked through the tall, galvanized steel windows. He blinked, bringing a hand up to rub the sleep from his eyes. The weight and warmth of a second body brought him fully to consciousness and he looked down to find Hermione snuggled between the back of the couch and his side. Fred lay on his back, Hermione still tucked under his right shoulder, her arm circling his waist and head resting on his chest. Her brown tresses spread around her in a wild nest, a single loose curl tickled the underside of his chin and he brushed it aside with his free hand. Their lower halves were a tangle of legs and blanket, her shorts riding up to show bits of bare leg peaking through the afghan. It was very intimate, and Fred thanked Merlin he wasn’t sporting his usual morning salute to the day.

He should get up. It would be easy to slip from Hermione’s grasp and slide off the couch. She’d wake up alone and figure he’d gone to bed and left her there for the night. But he didn’t move. A small, selfish part of him, the same selfish part that convinced him to kiss her all those months ago, made him stay. He might not get another moment like this and he wanted to relish in how nice it felt for just a few uninterrupted seconds. His eyes traced the freckles on the bridge of Hermione’s nose and the line of her parted lips. Merlin, she was beautiful, and he was fully and entirely undeserving.

Even if he weren’t with Angelina, what would Hermione Granger want with him? She was the smartest witch of her age and he was the bloke who’d barely gotten three OWLs and planned to make jokes and pranks for a living. She was going on to change the world or something close to it. Why she even bothered to be friends with him and George he couldn’t understand half the time. He didn’t really understand what she saw in Ron either. He was barely better than him. Ron got better grades and he’d done all the same heroic stuff her and Harry had. But still, he didn’t deserve Hermione one bit either. No one did, he thought in a moment of clarity.

He sighed, trying not to focus on the way his heart clenched in his chest when Hermione tightened her grip around his middle and snuggled further into him, letting out small breathy sighs in her sleep. The moment was almost tranquil and if he had it his way, he’d lay there forever. But, as Fred found, it was usually moments like that, that were meant to broken in some of he worst possible ways.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”


	16. Flame Twin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when two Weasleys get a little too involved?
> 
> Absolute chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY! After 14 hours of traveling back home yesterday I fell asleep editing this chapter! So...I mean I do and I don't have any excuse for that. Thank you for your patience! 
> 
> I am back to updating every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! 
> 
> I hope you have as much fun reading this chapter as I did writing it! And as always, please, please, please feel free to leave kudos and comments. I love hearing people's thoughts and opinions on the story!
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_You are the hider_

_I am the seeker_

_My twin, I’m in flames_

_I’m rolling about_

_I have a name_

_You call me by none_

_My twin, I’m on fire_

_Come put me out_

* * *

George Weasley loved his siblings very much. His eldest brother, Bill, was easily the coolest bloke he knew – somehow being a prefect, Head Boy, and working for Gringotts, without being dull as dishwater. His second eldest brother, Charlie, always knew what to say in a pinch; certainly, the most level-headed person in England, but then he’d have to be to work with dragons for a living. Percy, for all his downfalls, worked harder than anyone he’d ever known and sometimes George secretly wished he had an ounce of his ambition. Ron was always down for a laugh which George liked very much, but he also wasn’t afraid to challenge George more than any of his other siblings. Ginny, his little sister, was unapologetically herself and took zero shite from anyone. She also had a fondness for trouble, in her own special kind of way. But out of all of them, Fred had to be his favourite sibling by far. Sure, he was a bit biased considering Fred was his twin and all, but George reckoned he’d have no trouble disliking Fred if he were any different. While he and Fred were similar in many ways, they were also very distinct. Fred was more outgoing, daring, and had a penchant to take things a bit too far where he was more laid back, erratic, and carefree. George supposed that was because Fred cared more about things than he did. Most people assumed, if they even bothered to assume anything about him and his twin brother’s differences that is, that Fred was the more callous of the two. But where others saw reckless cruelty, George knew it was really the opposite.

Fred cared – a lot. Too much, in George’s opinion. He let his emotions get in the way of his thoughts and it often resulted in him taking things too far. He pushed people past their limits when he thought he knew what was best for them. He punished people too harshly when he felt they deserved it. For example, Fred was the first to suggest they find Percy and beat him to a bloody pulp when he’d made their mother cry. Fred didn’t care what the consequences were. No one made their mother cry.

But he also let the poor actions of those he cared about slide too much. Like with Angelina at the moment – there was no way George would ever put up with his girlfriend ignoring him without any proper excuse. But Fred wasn’t George. So, he sat in silent misery, justifying, and making excuses for why his girlfriend wasn’t in the wrong.

Fred also forgave too easily where it wasn’t deserved. That’s why George knew without a doubt that Fred would be the first to forgive Percy if and when he inevitably apologized, and when Angelina eventually broke his heart, he would probably find some way to make it not her fault.

All these things George loved about his brother. But it was also all these things that led to the one thing George did _not_ love about Fred. He always had to be a bloody martyr.

George knew Fred liked Hermione. He had had a subtle inclination that Hermione liked him back. And after yesterday morning’s little show in their bedroom, there was no question the two had chemistry. The way the electricity sparked between them…George was almost convinced they’d have started ripping each other’s clothes off if he hadn’t reminded them he was there. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say they’d already hooked up before, or something like it. But if that had happened Fred surely would have told him.

In George’s opinion it would be the easiest thing in the world for them to just fess up to each other and finally snog it out. Damn Angelina and damn Ron alike. But that was too easy – no, Fred had to take everyone else’s feelings into account. He couldn’t possibly take what he wanted if it chanced hurting Angelina’s or Ron’s feelings and somehow those factors had made him blind to the way Hermione looked at him. Which only made it worse of course, because he was annoyingly convinced Hermione would never be interested in him. George didn’t know why – he was a handsome chap. But then again, he was a bit biased.

It didn’t surprise him when Fred wasn’t in their room when he’d finally turned in for the night. He was probably somewhere in the house, sulking like the right stubborn prat he was. It _was_ surprising, however, when he’d woken the next morning and found that Fred had never returned to their room. Where could he possibly be? wondered George, stepping out into the hall. He started with the kitchen. Fred was known to wake up early and enjoy a nice cuppa while he waited for the rest of the house to wake up. But the kitchen was empty – no signs of Fred or morning tea anywhere to be found. Peaking into the nearby dining room, he also saw no Fred in sight. Perhaps the parlour, thought George and he walked up to the second floor. Again, no Fred. He was irritated now. Was this tosser really going to make him search the whole bloody house for him?

Stomping across the hall, he thrust the door to the library open and paused. He could just make out the top of Fred’s head, his red hair peaking out at the end of the sofa in front of the fire. George crept quietly across the room, expecting to give his brother a bit of a scare. He supposed the only benefit of having to go searching for his brother would be to get a good laugh out of it. But when he got close enough to peer over the top of the sofa, he didn’t find just Fred. No, instead he found Hermione Granger wrapped around his brother like a Grindylow attacking its prey. Even more curious, Fred was very much awake looking down at Hermione like she was a goddess divine sent from the heavens to please him.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” asked George, crossing his arms and grinning widely.

Fred’s gaze snapped from the girl sleeping on top of him to George. He looked guilty, splendidly so.

“It’s not what it looks like,” whispered Fred, giving Hermione a tense glance when she stirred slightly. Fred only relaxed when he was sure Hermione was still asleep. She nuzzled her face further into his chest and her breathing deepened once again.

George took a step closer, leaning against the back of the sofa and staring down at his brother who was looking especially uncomfortable. “Really? Because it looks like you’re cozied up on the sofa with Hermione,” George whispered back, fighting everything within him that wanted to jump and scream ‘GOTCHA!’.

“We were only talking. She was knackered. She fell asleep.”

“And you just decided to be a gentleman and be her mattress for the night?”

Fred sighed quietly. “I fell asleep too.”

“Mmm, I’m sure.”

“Look, there’s no ulterior motive here. I’m going with Angelina.”

“Sure didn’t look that way when I walked in. Now, correct me if I’m wrong since I’ve never had a girlfriend or anything, but are you allowed to lovingly stroke other girl’s hair when you’re in a relationship?” George tapped a finger to the end of his chin in mock contemplation.

Fred let out a small groan of frustration, trying his best not to wake Hermione in the current situation. “Alright, fine. You’ve had your fun. You’ve taken the mickey out of me. Happy?”

“Not necessarily, no,” answered George, not at all amused by Fred’s lack of fight.

“What do you want from me, mate?” Fred asked in exasperation. He was bordering hysterics and George could almost see a bead of sweat forming at his brow. Good.

“You know what I want.” George fixed him with a pointed stare. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. Now’s the time Freddie boy, thought George.

Fred opened his mouth as if to say something in response, but no sound came out and he quickly closed it, scrunching his brow. This process repeated a few times, making Fred look very much like a fish in George’s opinion. It took a while, but George was willing to wait as long as it took for Fred to give him what he wanted. That’s it, that’s a good boy, you can do it, George thought encouragingly in his mind, hoping that Fred could hear his thoughts.

Finally he answered in a harsh whisper, “Fine! I like her! I’m raving mad about her! I fancy her more than I’ve ever fancied anyone in my life. Are you happy now?”

“Extremely—” George pushed off the back of the sofa and headed towards the library doors “—see you at breakfast.”

An hour later George was seated at the kitchen table, sipping on a cup of earl grey, and flipping through the Daily Prophet. Goblin stock options – boring. New cauldron regulations – boring. Which witch and wizard’s fashion were in and out – double boring. A feel-good piece on the Minister – nauseating. He threw the paper down and folded it roughly with a sigh before pulling out his wand and charming the pages to fold themselves into individual little chickens. He didn’t know why he bothered with the paper anymore. It was just like his father said these days, all a load of rubbish.

The house was mostly awake at this point. George could hear the hustle and bustle of his family combined with the odd Order member. They were always popping in. Sometimes they brought news, sometimes they were simply asking on the whereabouts of other members, and sometimes they simply needed a place to sleep. Despite housing a majority of the Weasley family, Sirius Black, and a full-grown Hippogriff, Grimmauld Place had more than enough room to spare. The kitchen was oddly empty that morning though, not even his mum had come down yet to start on breakfast. George heard the distant shuffle of shoes on hardwood as someone descended the staircase. He sat up a bit straighter hoping it was Fred. They needed to continue their conversation. The fact that Fred had admitted his feelings to George was a good first start; now he just needed to admit those feelings to Hermione.

However, it wasn’t Fred who rounded the corner and entered the kitchen. Instead it was his little sister Ginny, looking incredibly rumpled and cranky.

“Orite, Gin?” George asked, eyeing her misbuttoned blouse and wrinkled shorts. Contrary to the last few days, the morning was uncharacteristically warm and when George had looked out the window earlier he saw nothing but bright sunny skies. Perhaps summer had finally come at last.

“No. It’s going to be such a nice day out and mum’s got us cooped up in this ghastly place! I asked her if we could take the day off and go home to play some quidditch, but she said she found another Doxy nest in one of the fourth floor bedrooms,” whined Ginny, grabbing a loaf of bread from the breadbox on the counter and slicing into it with a sharp knife. “Toast?”

George nodded, watching the paper chickens on the table chase each other down it’s length.

“It’s just mental! We’ve always had chores and I’ve never complained…much, but we’ve also always had time for fun things too. But here it’s like every waking moment is devoted to cleaning this trash heap of a house and for what? Sirius doesn’t care, obviously and if Kreacher cared, well there wouldn’t be this mess in the first place!” She held a piece of bread over the flame of the stove, browning the side before turning it over carefully in her hand and toasting the other side.

“Fuck!” Ginny exclaimed, dropping the toast onto the flame, and sucking on her singed pointer finger. She kept the digit between her lips for a moment before pulling it out of her mouth and inspecting the damage. “You know, this process would go a lot smoother if I had _magic_.” She shot George a pointed look.

George rolled his eyes good-humouredly. With a flew flicks of his wand the bread began to balance itself over the stove flame, toasting to a golden brown before depositing itself onto a plate. While the bread toasted Ginny grabbed butter and jam from the fridge and placed it on the table before George.

“Why don’t you just try out for the quidditch team Gin? You’re well enough at it,” said George, not really wanting to get into the endless number of chores they did daily. While he agreed, he’d also been listening to Ron and Ginny complain for a month now and he was growing tired of it. At a certain point whinging got you nowhere and it was better to shut up and put up.

“Well enough? I kick yours and Fred’s butt more often then not. I’m bloody fantastic.” Ginny grinned widely, grabbing the now full plate of toast, and walking to the table with it. George grabbed a piece and began to butter it before globbing on an ample amount of raspberry jam. One of the paper chickens pecked at his hand and George broke a piece of his toast off, tossing it to them. The chickens pecked enthusiastically at it and George took a large bite off of the remaining slice. As he chewed, he looked across the table at his sister. She had four slices on her own plate, piled high with butter and jam. The amount was no surprise. Ginny always ate to excess. It was impressive more than anything. He honestly didn’t know where she put it all.

“I think I’d want to try out for chaser this year. Are there any open chaser positions?” asked Ginny, taking a large bite.

Fred shook his head. All the chaser positions were full. Ginny frowned.

“But we need a new keeper. Still haven’t filled the position since Wood left,” George offered kindly.

Ginny made a face that George didn’t quite understand. There was nothing wrong with keeper. It certainly wasn’t as cool as beater, but it was a respectable position. Perhaps it wasn’t exciting enough for his dear sister. She always did enjoy a bit of thrill, just like him and Fred. Speaking of Fred. His twin entered the kitchen looking wary as he sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of tea. Shortly after Ron and Hermione joined them. The atmosphere around the table was tense. Or at least George thought so. Everyone was too quiet. They chewed too slowly, as if the lot of them had stayed up late the night before drinking deeply from a bottle of Firewhisky.

“Everyone excited for a day of Doxy wrangling?” George asked cheerily, trying to lift the mood at the table.

His three companions groaned, their shoulders sagging. Ron, who’d snagged a piece of toast from the pile, dropped his slice onto the table and laid his head in his hands. Honestly, what was everyone’s problem these days? People needed to learn to lighten up, live a little.

George did not try to lift the mood again. Sometimes it just wasn’t worth trying, especially when Fred wasn’t in the spirit to help him. The largest of the paper chickens hopped across the table and pecked at Ginny’s hand. She gave a little giggle. George smiled. At least his little sister could still be agreeable when she was cranky. Looking to the others at the table, George caught Fred and Hermione sharing a look. To anyone else it might seem innocent enough, but George assessed the situation like a trained auror looking for clues. It was much easier to spot things when you were looking for them. Their smiles were a bit too warm, their glances furtive, and whenever they came close to touching they both stuttered away from each other. The idiots clearly liked each other but didn’t want the other to know. Ridiculous.

“Could you pass the sugar please, Fred?” Hermione asked politely, pouring herself a cup of tea from the pot in the middle.

“I’ve got it, ‘Mione!” said Ron enthusiastically. He grabbed the sugar before Fred could reach it and placed it in front of Hermione.

Fred gawped, looking slightly put out, and sat back heavily in his seat. He crossed his arms, decidedly mopey once again. Great.

“…thank you Ron.” Hermione swallowed thickly and began to pile sugar into her cup.

The table fell back into a thick silence. Thankfully, it only lasted for a few moments more as the distant sound of his mother calling them from the parlour on the second floor broke the tension. Ron, Hermione, and Fred seemed to jump from their seats, rocketing towards the door of the kitchen like they’d been waiting at the starting line and his mother’s voice was the signal to run. George and Ginny hung behind, cleaning up the last bits of breakfast before they went to their mother.

“Merlin and Morgana…could you believe the tension between them? Could cut it with a bloody knife,” said Ginny, leaning against the kitchen counter.

George paused, the plates in his hand hovering in the air as he went to place them in the sink. “How did you…?”

“Oh come on George. I mean, it’s pretty obvious they fancy each other. Hermione doesn’t think he does of course. Just wish that brother of ours would finally fess up and tell her. That way we’d finally stop having to watch them make sad puppy eyes at one another.” Ginny laughed, pushing off the counter and heading towards the door out of the kitchen.

George stared at his little sister in disbelief. He clearly hadn’t been giving the girl enough credit. That or Fred and Hermione’s actions were more obvious than he previously thought. Either way, it was nice to know he wasn’t the only one in the house suffering because of them. He just wished there were a way to force them to—

“Ginny! Wait!” George reached out and grabbed his sister’s arm. Ginny spun around, giving him a confused looked. A large smile spread across George’s face and he knew he must look like an absolute maniac in that moment, but he’d just come up with a brilliant idea. An absolutely brilliant, devious idea.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” asked Ginny reproachfully.

“Gin…how would you like to help me with something today?”

“What? Like one of your pranks?”

“No, not a prank. More like a…mission. A mission of _love_ you might call it.”

Ginny’s eyes widened in understanding and her mouth stretched into an equally evil smile.

“Oh George, I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

Fred groaned. Just when he thought the day couldn’t get any worse, life found a way to torture him further. It was a hot day. England had finally found its summer heat and soon the temperature rose so high even the strongest cooling charm couldn’t cut the stifling warmth. As a result the lot of them had divested themselves of their layers until they were as stripped as was proper. Fred, George, and Ron were shirtless as they cleaned out the Doxy nests in the upstairs bedroom. Getting rid of the Doxies had been fairly simple, but the compact, intricate nests they’d made in the wardrobes and drapes was another story. It would have taken less time with wands, but Fred and George had made the mistake of launching one too many Doxies at Ron, and their mother had taken their wands as punishment. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had glared daggers at them as it really was a punishment for all of them. Now they’d all be forced to remove the nests by hand. Sweat rolled down Fred’s chest as he pulled out an old box from the top of the wardrobe to reveal another clump of nests. Damn Doxies.

Across the room, balancing on a ladder, Hermione prodded at the drapes. Staring at the girl, he thought this must be what they meant when they talked about forbidden fruit. She’d pulled her hair up, twisting it into a knot at the back of her head, but after several hours of work, tendrils had fallen loose, sticking to her damp neck. Her vest top had risen at some point, revealing the creamy skin of her midsection just above a pair of shorts that had to be the tightest things in existence, Fred thought. She hadn’t been wearing them earlier in the day, but after lunch when they’d returned to their work, she’d entered the bedroom and Fred had nearly swallowed his tongue. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she’d done it on purpose. To torture him. But that wasn’t right. It was foolishly arrogant to assume Hermione wore anything for anyone, especially himself.

In addition to the true agony that Hermione was causing him physically, George was causing him equal turmoil mentally. No, he hadn’t done or said anything, but that was entirely the point. After catching him and Hermione together that morning and finally getting Fred to admit his feelings for the girl, he expected a bit more from his brother. He was sure his twin would pull him aside to continue their conversation, or at the very least make pointed jokes. But there’d been nothing. In fact, it seemed George was hellbent on acting as if that morning never happened.

Fred’s thoughts drifted back to earlier in the library. Once George left, he took a few more minutes to bask in the glory of having Hermione in his arms before he woke her. She had been mildly embarrassed when she roused to find herself wrapped so tightly around him. But Fred played it off like it was no big deal. But despite the moment of embarrassment something definitely felt like it had shifted between the two of them. Fred felt a little less on edge around her and she seemed to be more relaxed around him as well. Perhaps realizing that she could be physically close to him without him making a move had her less concerned about being around him again.

Although Fred figured if Hermione could hear his thoughts at that moment she’d feel anything but an ease. He had to physically bite his tongue when she’d hopped off the ladder and bent over to pick up the duster she’d been using. A tightness formed in the front of his trousers and Fred turned his gaze away, banging his head on one of the open wardrobe doors to. Squeezing his eyes shut tight he thought about boring things like owl post, third year herbology, and potions essays. When that didn’t work he thought of disgusting things like Blast-Ended Skrewts and Hippogriff dung.

“Hermione, could you give me a hand with this please?” asked Ginny, motioning to the second pair of heavy drapes as she attempted to get behind the tangled mess of them.

“Yeah, of course.”

Fred watched as Ginny piled the ends of the drapes into Hermione’s arms. “There’s a nest back here. I think if you lift the drapes high enough, I’ll be able to reach it,” said Ginny, instructing Hermione to lift the drapes higher in her arms.

There really shouldn’t be anything sexy about cleaning out Doxy nests, thought Fred. But as Hermione raised her arms higher and higher, she revealed more of her sweat-slicked body. The wild-haired girl struggled under the weight of the drapes, now hold them high above her head. Fred supposed if he hadn’t been checking out Hermione in that moment, he wouldn’t have seen the way her arms buckled, dropping some of the drapes and tangling them in her legs. Sprinting across the room, he caught her just as she lost her footing, trying to untangle her legs from the heavy material.

“Whoa!” Hermione exclaimed, landing hard in Fred’s arms, as the drapes fell back onto Ginny.

“Hey! Hermione, what gives—oh…you okay?” Ginny had scrambled out of the drapes to see Hermione in Fred’s embrace, looking up at him in surprise. Fred’s mouth went dry as he looked down at the witch in his arms. Her face was delightfully flushed, and he could feel bare skin under his hands. He felt the tightening in his pants return and practically threw Hermione from his hold, stepping away from her.

“Thanks,” Hermione muttered, looking pointedly down at the ground.

“Yeah,” coughed Fred.

He was just about to try and come up with an excuse to flee from the room when his mother entered, looking around the space appraisingly. “I think that’s enough for the day dears. It’s quite hot, why don’t you wrap up and we’ll finish this room tomorrow?”

“Alright, thanks mum,” said George, wiping his grubby hands on his jeans and walking over to swing an arm around Ginny’s shoulders.

“Uck! You’re all sweaty George!” cried Ginny, shrugging off George’s arm in disgust.

George took a moment to assess himself, looking down at his sweaty form. “You’re right Gin. I think I could use a shower actually. What about you lot?”

A chorus of agreement rang through the room from them all and they exited it, heading down to their rooms and more importantly, the bathrooms.

* * *

Ginny was only slightly disappointed in herself. Her first “mission” with her older brother George and already she was failing at it. She’d never tell him, but she considered his invitation to be quite the honour. Sure, she’d helped Fred and George with some of their little schemes over the years, but never had one of them asked her specifically to help without the other. At first she wondered why Fred _wasn’t_ involved in their plan, but they she realized it might be because Fred didn’t know Ron was desperately in love with Hermione and vice-versa. Perhaps Ron had only told _George_ in confidence and didn’t want Fred knowing too – Fred was the type to tease Ron more than George would about something like that. Finding out that Ginny was clued in was probably a huge relief to George.

_“I’m not really sure how doing this will make them confess their feelings though,” said Ginny, knitting her brow and looking sceptically at her older brother._

_“Trust me, it’ll work. All we need is a bit of sexual tension to break them. Get them hot and bothered enough and they’ll be attacking each other before you know it!”_

She still wasn’t sure if she was 100% sold on the plan, but George knew about these things more than her. It had been her idea to spill pumpkin juice all over Hermione’s clothes after lunch, forcing her to change. She’d subtly offered Hermione a pair of her shorts, her smallest and tightest ones and a when the older girl had asked whether or not she should just wear her vest, Ginny encouraged it. A small part of her felt like it was a bit demeaning to resort to primping Hermione up like a prize fair farm animal for Ron to ogle, but at this point she was desperate to get the two of them to admit their feelings. Her wants in the world were simple. She wanted her siblings to be happy and she wanted her friends to be happy. If she could accomplish those things in one fell swoop then even better.

When she’d piled the drapes in Hermione’s arms, she fully expected Ron to be the one to catch her. Bloody Fred and his chivalry. He already had a girlfriend, she thought bitterly, why couldn’t he just step aside and let Ron save the day?

Either way, they were on to part two of their plan and Ginny would not let George down. Her job was to direct Hermione to the right place at the right time. Third floor bathroom at the end of the hall. George would take care of the rest. Easy.

However, to her dismay, when she’d reached the third floor she saw Ron entering the first bathroom on the right and close the door. Damn him! Where was George? Wasn’t Ron _his_ responsibility? Putting her ear to the bathroom Ron was currently in, she heard the rings of the shower curtain slide against the metal pole and the water turn on. Fine, she could improvise. This was fine. Ginny spun around at the sound of a door opening and closing and saw Hermione exit their bedroom with her towel in hand.

“Ginny are any of the bathrooms on this floor open?” she asked, wiping a hand across her brow.

“This one is—” Ginny stepped aside the door “—I started the shower, but mum called me and needs my help. You can take it!”

“Thanks Ginny!”

“No problem ‘Mione. What are friends for?”

* * *

Hermione was grateful for Ginny giving up the bathroom. She was in desperate need of a nice long shower. For more than one reason. There was a moment in the fourth-floor bedroom that she thought she was surely going to combust. In what fair and just world should she be forced to stare at a shirtless Frederick Weasley for an extended period of time? It was painful how good he looked. Hermione cursed her inappropriate thoughts. He was a taken man. But then there was the way he’d held her in her sleep – the way he’d gently woken her in the library. She’d been embarrassed at first, but he didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, he almost seemed sad to part, but that was ridiculous. Again, he was a taken man.

Entering the small bathroom, Hermione scowled slightly at the running water. Really, Ginny should wait until she _entered_ the shower to turn on the water. It was such a waste to keep it running. She placed her towel on one of the hooks on the wall and grabbed the hem of her vest top, sliding it up her torso. The fabric stuck to her skin, damp from the sweat of a hot day and good, hard work. If she’d known she’d be spending a majority of her summer doing exhausting chores, perhaps she would have thought twice about abandoning her parents. But then Hermione’s mind drifted to the thought of her grandparents’ cat-fur covered sofa and dry Madeira cake and suddenly she was sure of her decision once again. She was just bringing the vest top over her head when something very odd happened. The sound of water stopped. Hermione froze, arms raised over her head and top covering her eyes. Turning towards the shower, she pulled her top completely off, freeing her sight just as the shower curtain pulled back revealing a very wet and very naked Ron.

While in reality it was probably only a few seconds, for Hermione it felt like an eternity that she stood still as stone staring at Ron absolutely starkers. Ron stared back, eyes wide and mouth hung open. How? Why? What? Hermione had so many questions and yet, nothing came out of her mouth. In fact the only thing her mouth could do was open and close like an idiot before she finally let out a high-pitched scream.

Ron screamed as well, bringing his hands down to cover his more…vulnerable bits. It was a bit late for that thought Hermione but closed her eyes tightly all the same.

“What are you doing in here?!” she screamed, blindly feeling for the door.

“What am _I_ doing in here?! What are _you_ doing in here?!” screamed Ron back, the tile squeaking under his wet feet as he exited the tub.

“Oh my god—” Hermione desperately felt for the door handle, letting out another scream when she felt wet skin “—OH MY GOD!”

“Bloody hell, Hermione! Get out!” Ron yelled.

“I’m _trying_!”

Finally Hermione’s fingers found the doorknob and she flung herself from the bathroom, running as fast as she could down the hallway.

“What is it?! What’s going on?! I heard scream— _oof_!”

Hermione collided into someone, her frantic fleeing impairing her ability to watch where she was going. Whoever it was, she hit them hard. Hard enough to knock her backwards. Desperately, she reached out to catch herself on instinct, but the only thing her hand found purchase on was the soft fuzzy fabric of a towel that gave easily as she fell backwards. Hermione landed hard on her backside, feeling slightly dazed. Looking down at the towel in her hand, she looked up in mortification. There standing before her, at eye level she might add, was Frederick Weasley’s entirely naked body. She screamed again, covering her eyes quickly this time, a little more prepared and a little more experienced at accidentally seeing naked boys now.

“Merlin!” Fred cried, yanking the towel from her hands, and most likely covering himself. Hermione didn’t know for certain though as her hands were still tightly glued to her face. She wasn’t risking it anymore. If another Weasley boy were to show up in the hallway naked, she was prepared.

“Oh my god. I’m _so, so_ sorry!” Hermione cried, attempting to stand without her arms or her sight. She wobbled and bumped a bit, but eventually found her feet.

“What the hell is going on?!” asked Fred.

“Hermione I—” she heard Ron’s voice start and then stop suddenly before he let out a confused exclamation. “What’s going on here?!”

“What’s going on here? What was going on in there?!” Fred asked back, sounding quite angry.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god,” Hermione chanted in humiliation as she was now blindly trying to find her bedroom door. She needed to get out of there desperately.

“Bloody hell Hermione. You can open your eyes now,” groaned Ron.

Hermione shook her head frantically. “Nope! Sorry. I’m not chancing it.”

“What was she doing _in there_ with you?” Fred questioned indignantly.

“What was she doing _out here_ with you?” huffed Ron.

“I heard screaming!”

“So you decided to come and investigate naked?!”

“I wasn’t naked! I had a towel, but she pulled it off!”

“Why would you run out in just a towel?!”

“Sorry, next time I think there’s an emergency, let me just take my sweet time getting dressed before I come and help,” Fred bit back sarcastically.

“Boys—” Hermione felt completely lost at this point, walking into a wall, and hitting her head “—ow! Please. Now is really not the time to fight. Can someone please just direct me to my room so I can kill myself?”

“Stop being so dramatic Hermione,” Ron sighed. She could almost feel his eyes rolling in his head.

“Yeah, it’s just a bit of skin ‘Mione. No need to be so affected,” said Fred.

Hermione let out a high-pitched sound of disbelief. “Are you two seriously turning on me now?”

“Well, you _were_ the one who walked in on _my_ shower,” Ron said sounded very irritated.

“Yeah, and you pulled down _my_ towel,” added Fred.

“How in the world is this my fault now?!” cried Hermione, no longer attempting to find her room. Instead, she stood in the hallway, eyes still covered but entirely invested in the argument that was now happening between the three of them.

It was that moment that they heard the loud and raucous laughter of two people from down the hall. Hermione knew at once who it was. Of course.

“Ginevra Weasley, I swear to Merlin I will kill you slowly in your sleep for this!” Hermione threatened. “George, I know you were involved in this too! Don’t think for a second you’re in the clear!”

Ginny and George’s laughter continued, both of them in hysterics at this point.

“You two?!” cried Ron. “Why?!” He sounded deeply betrayed, as if he expected a lot from the two, but never something as horrible as this.

“Merlin, this is…this is better than I ever could have hoped,” said George in between laughs.

“Really George? _Really?_ ” asked Fred pointedly.

“You know George, I was a bit disappointed you failed on your end of the plan, but I think this laugh was worth failing,” Ginny commented, finding her voice through deep breaths.

“What do you mean?” asked George. “It was you that got it all mixed up!”

“Me?! What do you—”

“I can’t believe you two! Actually, George I could expect this from you but Ginny?” Hermione scolded.

“Oh lighten up Hermione, it was just a bit of fun!” scoffed Ginny.

“I mean, what was the point of this? Really?” asked Fred, continuing his rant.

“I’ve been so nice to you lately George. I even did you chores the other day!” said Ron dejectedly.

“Indecent George and Ginny! Absolutely indecent behaviour!” yelled Hermione.

“That’s rich coming from someone only in their bra and trousers,” said George.

Hermione gasped, pulled her hands from her eyes now and covering her upper half. In all the chaos and confusion she’d completely forgotten she was half naked herself.

All five of them were now talking over each other, everyone yelling at someone different as they argued in the heat of the moment. The noise was beginning the rise in magnitude until the only thing that could be heard was the overwhelming sound of screaming voices.

“SCUM! MUDBLOODS! BLOOD TRAITORS! IN MY HOUSE?! OUT! OUT! DISGRACESFUL! DIRTY! DIRTY!”

Their arguing was suddenly drowned out by the horrid sound of Walburga Black’s portrait two floors down. Everyone stopped. Now they’d done it.

Mrs. Weasley’s shrill and angry voice drifted up the flights of stairs and mixed horribly with the shouting portrait. They heard stomping feat on the wooden stairs and looked at each other in fear.

“Don’t just stand here like idiots—” said George quickly.

“—Scatter!” finished Fred.


	17. Chasing Pirates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred receives another letter from Angelina and must face some tough questions from George. 
> 
> Hermione struggles with her want to keep Harry informed, but it happy things are finally back to normal with Ron and Fred - but are they really? And how will she cope with some unsettling news?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't see in the comment section for my last chapter, I lost my internet on Sunday! I was finally able to get someone out today to get it fixed and then after catching up on work, I was able to upload! Thank you all for being so kind and patient. I really do try to get these chapters out on time, but it seems the universe was against me this week. 
> 
> As always, please feel free to leave kudos or a comment, I love hearing your feedback! 
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_In your message you said, you were goin' to bed,_   
_But I'm not done with the night._   
_So I stayed up and read, but your words in my head,_   
_Got me mixed up so I turned out the light._

_And I, don't know how, to slow it down._   
_My mind's racing from chasing pirates._

* * *

Fred figured it was just his luck that in the confusion of everyone running from his mother, he ended up in his bedroom with George _and_ Hermione. He also figured it was just his luck he was too angry with his twin brother to censor his words.

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me George?” Fred seethed, trying to keep his voice down as they were in fact still hiding from their mother.

“Oh lighten—”

“No! No, I will not just lighten up! Why?! What was going on in that evil little skull of yours?” Fred’s hand tightened on the towel around his waist as he paced back and forth. He was angry. Angrier than he had ever been at his brother, which was saying something because he’d never actually been cross with George before. Sure, he’d been miffed and on the odd occasion annoyed by his twin brother, and vice versa of course, but never like this. No, he was well and truly pissed off. Which meant this was entirely new territory for the both of them as Fred tried to manage his emotional tirade and George tried to manage Fred.

“Well, I—”

“You _know_ how things are with Angelina right now and you knew how I felt and then you had to go and do this? I mean, why would you—they—”

“Fred—”

“—especially after what I told you this morning. I mean, I know we’re in it for a laugh and all most of the time, and to be fair this was quite funny. If it were anyone else, it would’ve been a real gut buster. But _come on_. This was just cheap!”

“ _Fred_ —”

“And to include Ginny in it? What? Did you _tell_ her?”

“FRED!” George whispered harshly, putting a stop to Fred’s pacing, and clamping his hand over his brother’s mouth. At first, Fred’s instinct was to rip George’s hand off of his mouth and continue his rant. He was upset. Therefore, he was entitled to as much whinging and scolding as he pleased.

But then he saw George’s eyes flicker to a very confused and sheepish looking Hermione sitting on the edge of George’s bed and that instinct vanished. His eyes grew wide, realizing only then that he’d been freely ranting about Hermione and himself with the girl in question sitting right there. Fucking arsing balls, Fred cursed in his head. How much had he said? Enough to give anything away or only enough to make himself seem like a raving lunatic? He thought about subtly asking George but didn’t get the chance.

Their mother’s angry footsteps sounded from the top of the stairs followed by her equally angry voice, “ _Someone_ had better come out here and face me or I’ll be knocking down every single door in this hallway.”

Fred’s head swung from his brother to the door and back. “You have to go out!” Fred whispered in a panic.

“Me? Why me?” asked George.

Fred looked down at his towel-clad body pointedly and then to Hermione who was still sans shirt. “First of all, you owe us. Second, I wonder how mum will feel when she finds Hermione in here with us like this,” said Fred.

George’s face contorted in conflict as the pros and cons of taking the blame for waking up Walburga once again, or having their mother find a half-naked girl in their room. Finally he gave a sort of whiny sigh.

He was just shy of opening their bedroom door when he turned and pointed a finger in Fred and Hermione’s direction. “I want you two to know that I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart and that by going out here I’m fully proving my remorse for this afternoon’s prank.”

“Just go!” Hermione squeaked, shifting uncomfortably, and holding her arms tightly across her chest.

George took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before opening the heavy oak door with flourish and slamming it behind him quickly. “Mum! You’re looking lovely this afternoon,” said George, his voice muffled as he now stood in the hallway.

“I should have known—” she sounded aggravated and slightly defeated, thought Fred “—let’s go. You’re going to help me shut that old bag up and then I think the basement closet needs de-spidering, George Weasley.”

“Come now mum, surely by now you’d be able to tell that I’m Fred.”

Fred sighed, shaking his head, and smiling against his better judgement. Leave it to George to have the last laugh. “Wanker…” Fred mumbled as he crossed the room to his dresser. He dug into one of the drawers and pulled out an old shirt. Throwing it in Hermione’s direction, he politely averted his eyes and began to grab clothes for himself.

“I didn’t know you were a Puddlemere United fan.”

“What?” Fred turned, her comment catching him off guard. While it was a Puddlemere United shirt, you couldn’t know that unless you were familiar with the navy-blue colour and golden crossed bulrushes.

“Puddlemere United,” Hermione repeated, staring strangely at his hand, and then looking away with a slight blush. Fred look to his hand to find that he was still grasping a pair of striped, blue pants. He turned around again, grabbing a pair of trousers – a brand of muggle jeans Lee had turned him and George onto – before grabbing a clean white shirt.

“Yeah. George is a bit more of a Falmouth Falcons fan, but I’ve always preferred Puddlemere. I didn’t know you knew anything about quidditch.”

Hermione let out a snort that while rude, Fred found to be quite endearing. “Please, you can’t be friends with Ron and Harry and not know at least a little bit about quidditch. I’ve read Quidditch Through the Ages at least five times.”

“Never would have guessed it from the vacant expression you get on your face every time it’s brought up,” Fred laughed, pulling his shirt over his head. The cotton material felt nice and light in the warm room.

“That’s because it’s usually Ron going on and on about the Chudley Cannons or how much the Slytherin house team sucks. The same story gets a bit boring over time. Now, if he wanted to talk about the history of quidditch rules and legislature, or the statistical odds of certain teams winning or losing, I might chime in.

“Just when I thought I had you figured out, ‘Mione.” Fred turned but paused, looking between the clothes in his hand and Hermione staring at him once again. While he certainly wasn’t shy, he didn’t really fancy Hermione getting a full view of his…full frontal for a second time that day. Especially when she hadn’t seemed all too cheery about it the first time. “Do you mind?”

“Oh! Um, of course—” Hermione turned, covering her eyes with her hands “—sorry.”

“S’alright,” Fred laughed. Something about Hermione’s embarrassment made him feel a whole lot better about the situation. “You know, I guess I was right.”

“About what?” asked Hermione, still facing the other way as Fred zipped up his trousers.

“Last summer when I guessed you were trying to see me and George naked.”

“Oh piss off!” Hermione cried, the tremor of a laugh in the back of her throat.

If Fred weren’t trying to tease her to make himself feel more comfortable, he probably would have gaped in pure delight that Hermione Granger had just told him to piss off. But, he was, so instead he continued, “You know if you really wanted to get a look, you just had to ask. I’m taken, but George would probably say yes…and Ron,” Fred hesitated to say the last part. The words had come to the tip of his tongue without him even trying, giving him pause to wonder why his brain was at all interested in what Hermione thought of seeing Ron naked. Because you fancy her, you daft git, scoffed the little voice in his head. Ah yes, there was that he supposed.

Hermione made a disgruntled sound, “Yes, I suppose that’s why Ginny was involved. She probably told George all about how she thinks Ron has a crush on me.”

“You can uncover your eyes now. I’m all decent.” Fred crossed the room and settled himself onto his bed, crossing his arms behind his head.

“Are you sure?” asked Hermione in a teasing manner. “I’ve been burned twice already today. I’m not quite sure I’m ready for a third time.”

“Shut up. You’re fine,” Fred laughed, throwing a pillow at the bookish girl.

“ _Oof,_ ” Hermione grunted, the pillow knocking her to the side but making her laugh all the same. She brought her hands down, hugging the pillow to her chest.

“And how do you feel about that?” Fred asked Hermione, trying to make his voice sound as casual as possible.

“About what?” she questioned, running her hands over her mussed hair.

“You know, about Ron liking you or whatever.”

“Honestly?” Hermione asked, sounding like it was a topic she was entirely tired of talking about.

Fred perked up at this, watching Hermione crawl up George’s bed until she was parallel with him.

“I’d rather he didn’t,” sighed Hermione, tucking her legs underneath her and scrunching her nose in the way that made Fred’s stomach flip. He watched as his shirt hung on her frame, engulfing her upper half and the top part of her legs. If he didn’t know already that she was wearing shorts, he could have easily assumed she was in nothing but her knickers and his shirt. Merlin, he really needed to stop giving her his clothes if this was the direction his brain was going to go every time. He looked away, down at his hands that he’d moved to his lap, now laced together by the fingers.

“Why? Holding out for someone else?” It was more of a joke than a serious question really – a call back to her hesitancy to accept Viktor Krum’s invitation to the Yule ball. In fact when Fred said it, it was in such a sardonic tone that he never even considered that he might be hitting the nail directly on the head. Fred’s heart gave a sort of leap in his chest when she didn’t answer right away. He expected her to tell him off, or throw a pillow at his head, but instead there was silence.

Looking up he was surprised to see Hermione had gone slightly pale, mouth open and eyes wide in panic. “I—”

Before the girl could answer a tap at the window pulled their attention. Fred hopped off his bed and walked to the window where the same stately owl he’d seen a few days prior sat on the ledge. His stomach gave a strange pull as he realized who the owl was most likely for and from. He wasn’t prepared for the harsh wave of heat that washed over him when he opened the window. It felt like it had gotten at least five degrees hotter outside. How could it possibly be any hotter? Fred wondered, taking the letter from the owl, and closing the old window tightly as it flew off into the sun-hazed sky.

He held the letter addressed to himself in sweat-slicked hands. Glancing at Hermione who now looked curiously in his direction, Fred thought for a moment that he should perhaps open it later. That way he wouldn’t have any questioning looks, or expectant faces. On the other hand though, the curiosity was killing him. He had not written Angelina back since the last time she wrote. Truthfully, the letter didn’t feel like it warranted a response and of course he’d been quite busy with the troublesome distraction that currently sat in the room with him. He’d picked up a quill a few times since but staring at the blank page he felt at a loss for words. What should he write? All things currently of interest in his life felt quite shady and untoward and everything else felt inconsequential. Finally, he decided to just get it over with quickly.

The envelope only tore a little as he opened it carefully before sliding out a letter that was pleasantly longer than the last one he’d received from his girlfriend.

**_Dear Fred,_ **

**_I finally got to reading the rest of your letters. I’m sorry to hear that your summer isn’t going as fun as you’d hoped. Where exactly_ ** **are _you anyways? From your letters it sounds like you’re in London. Why didn’t you tell me you had family there, you wanker? I would have made you visit them one of these past summers and we could have hung out. London has a lot of cool spots – wish I were there to show you around, but camp lasts all summer long. I guess the only upside to that, is I don’t have to listen to my mother whing on and on about my chores or my clothes or whatever else she’s decided to have a go at for the week._**

Fred laughed lightly at the mention of Mrs. Johnson. Angelina had been in a tense war with her mother for the past two years. She swore up and down that her mother was unhappy with anything she did, no matter what. Fred could relate to that. The two of them often swapped stories about their mothers’ disapproval and the wild things they’d done to stir up trouble in their families. He remembered the amount of begging Angelina had had to do that past spring in order to convince her mother to let her go to the summer-long camp. Mrs. Johnson wasn’t too pleased with how athletically inclined Angelina was – convinced that her daughter should be a bit more proper. Secretly, Fred figured Mrs. Johnson finally relented to Angelina’s request just to have an end to the constant badgering.

**_Have you thought about taking the day off? You’re 17 now and you’ve got all those galleons from Harry (lucky bastard). Surely you and George could sneak off to Diagon Alley for the day or even muggle London! I can give you a list of places if you’d like._ **

**_Things are still busy here._ **

A large drop of smeared ink painted the parchment after the last sentence, as if she’d spent a long time contemplating on what to say next, allowing the ink to drop from her quill before messily attempting to clean it up.

**_Oliver’s been helping me a lot these past few weeks and it’s actually been pretty great! I know what you’re thinking, how can I possibly be surviving? Don’t get me wrong, he’s still obsessed with the game in that overly intense way, but he’s not nearly as bad as he was in school. Turns out when he’s not consumed by winning the house cup, he’s quite a cool bloke._ **

**_I’m making a lot of new friends as well! There are some guys from Ilvermorny here, the American school. They’re quite loud and brash – it reminds me of you._ **

**_Anyway, I should probably wrap this up. Oliver’s promised to show me and a couple other people some defensive techniques he’s learned from Puddlemere._ **

**_Best,_ **

**_Angelina_ **

**_P.S. – There’s something I need to tell you once we’re back at Hogwarts._ **

Fred was left with a sour taste in his mouth. What could Angelina possibly have to tell him that she couldn’t have written in a letter? And what was this whole business with Oliver being a ‘cool bloke’? Up until that point he’d only ever heard Angelina talk about how much she hated him. He was a crazy, obsessive, misogynistic pig – she’d said it at least a thousand times over. Especially in the times that Oliver disregarded the women on the team and referred to them all as ‘men’ or ‘guys’. And what about those guys from Ilvermorny? What were a bunch of Americans doing in England anyways? Didn’t they have quidditch camps in the states? Lastly, there was the fact that she’d signed it ‘best’ and not ‘yours’. It was a small thing, but she always wrote ‘yours’, even when they weren’t dating.

“Who’s it from?”

Hermione’s voice startled Fred. So immersed in the letter and his thoughts of Angelina and Oliver and guys from Ilvermorny, he’d completely forgotten she was still there.

Fred cleared his throat, “Angelina.”

“Is everything alright?” asked Hermione, furrowing her brow, and staring hard at the letter in his hand.

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” Fred’s voice came out high and crackly, making him feel foolish and completely invalidating his statement that everything was alright.

“Well…it’s just that you’ve been frowning at that letter for about five minutes now and earlier—” she took a deep breath “—earlier you said something to George about Angelina. It sounded a bit like it was something unpleasant.”

“Oh…you caught that?” Hermione Granger had to be the most annoyingly astute witch he’d ever met.

Hermione nodded and stood from the bed, crossing the room to stand before him. She looked nervous, like she was using all her courage to say her next words, “Do you want to—”

“Hey!” The door to the room opened and Ginny and Ron came barrelling through. “The coast is clear. Mum’s got George cleaning out spiders in the basement,” said Ron, now fully clothed and looking a bit pink around the ears as he avoided looking directly at Hermione.

“I just know he’s going to lord that over my head,” sighed Ginny, leaning against the wall and crossing her legs at the ankle. “The whole thing was his idea anyways. Seems fair that he should take the brunt of the punishment.”

“You still haven’t dealt with the punishment you’ll be getting from _me_ Ginevra,” bit Hermione, sending a disapproving look at the younger girl.

“Oh come on, Hermione. You know I only had the best intentions. S’not my fault George mucked it up and you had to see _Fred’s_ bits as well,” said Ginny, pulling a face.

“I very much would have preferred to see no one’s _bits_.”

“Can you please stop calling them ‘bits’?” asked Ron, frowning. Fred had to agree with his little brother. There was something incredibly emasculating about the word.

“Men—” Ginny rolled her eyes “—such fragile egos. Come on, I think there’s some lemonade in the kitchen and I’m parched. It’s so bloody hot!”

Ginny pushed off the wall and sauntered out of the room followed closely by Ron. Hermione hesitated for a moment, looking up at Fred and then back down at the letter in his hand. Fred quickly folded the letter and shoved it in his pocket. It probably wasn’t the best moment to get into him and Angelina anyways.

“Come on, best not to keep them waiting,” he said and made his way out of the room and down towards the kitchen.

Fred didn’t see George again until dinner. His twin had emerged from the basement closet looking incredibly tired and slightly squeamish. This pleased Fred immensely as he still felt like George’s full punishment hadn’t been served. When everyone had sat themselves down at the long table for their meal, Fred made sure to put as much space between them and Hermione as possible. He needed to have a proper conversation with his brother about that afternoon. Thankfully, they had a few extra guests from the Order and so it was easy to do.

“So, you didn’t tell Ginny about me liking Hermione then?” Fred whispered as he piled potatoes onto his plate.

“Oh so now you’re ready to have a civil conversation?” asked George tiredly, taking the potatoes from him and serving himself as well.

“Oi, don’t get cheeky with me. You’re still the yob who started this.”

“You’re right, sorry—” George passed the bowl of potatoes to the wizard beside him who was currently in a deep conversation about transportation restrictions with their father “—no. I didn’t tell her. I thought she already knew but turns out she was talking about Ron. Classic case of miscommunication.”

Fred nodded. “Mmm, well that’s good at least. What were you thinking though mate? You couldn’t possibly think locking me in the bathroom with Hermione was a good idea.”

“I just thought it would be good to get you two alone together. You know, force you to actually have an open and honest conversation about how you feel,” mumbled George, cutting his ham into little pieces.

“And me being naked was supposed to aid in that?” Fred raised an eyebrow, reaching across the table and snagging a roll.

George looked down at his plate, suppressing a very pleased expression. “Thought it couldn’t hurt. You two looked very cosy this morning. Figured all you needed was a bit of provocation to get the subject flowing,” George admitted.

“You’re an idiot,” Fred whispered, laughing lightly, and shaking his head. While still quite displeased with his twin, he couldn’t dismiss the humour of the situation. “What makes you think Hermione and I don’t talk already?”

The question seemed to catch George off guard.

“What? You thought all those times we were working in our classroom and reading in the library, we were sitting there in silence?” Fred questioned hypothetically.

“Well, you certainly couldn’t have been saying anything of substance. Otherwise you’d both have finally admitted your feelings for each other.”

Fred let out a long breath. “Georgie, you know you’re my favourite person in the whole world—” Fred started.

“I’m touched, Freddie.” George brought a hand up to his heart.

“—some would say I even love you like a brother,” Fred went on.

“Not sure I could say the same, sorry.”

“But, at the end of the day I _am_ in a relationship with Angelina. It wouldn’t be fair to her if I were to go behind her back with Hermione. And Hermione—”

“You can’t still tell me you think she likes Ron—”

“No. Actually she told me the exact opposite earlier this afternoon,” Fred confessed, trying not to focus on the way his heart lifted a little at the thought. “But it doesn’t mean she likes me either. Hermione is a nice girl. She deserves a hell of a lot better than me and even if she did like me, well like I said. That wouldn’t be fair to Angelina.”

“Is it fair to Angelina though for you to keep going out with her when you fancy someone else?” challenged George, bringing his voice to barely a whisper as they both leaned in to make their conversation more private.

“I… —” Fred struggled with the words “—it’s complicated. I still fancy Angelina too. It’s not like I’m dating her for nothing. She’s great. She’s one of my best friends, she’s tough, she’s fit, she loves quidditch, and we’ve known each other forever. I can’t just…I can’t just give that up because I also fancy someone else.”

“Do you fancy Angelina though?”

“What?”

“Do you _actually_ fancy Angelina.”

“I just said I did, didn’t I?” Fred felt lost. What was George getting at?

“Yes, but you just listed things you like about her. Things most blokes like about her. Bloody hell, things _I_ like about her – no offence. But, and correct me if I’m wrong, aren’t relationships supposed to be a bit deeper or some emotional crap like that? You know, something a bit more than just ‘we’re mates, and she lets me shag her’?”

“I…well on that logic then how do you know it’s not just the same thing with Hermione?”

“Are you shagging Hermione?” George asked, eyebrows raising high.

“No, but the idea doesn’t sound half bad. What if it’s more of a ‘we’re mates, and I want to shag her’ situation?” Fred took a large bite of his dinner roll and reached forward to grab his glass of pumpkin juice.

“Honestly, Freddie? That’s a bit out of my wheelhouse. But you should probably figure that out. Sooner rather than later,” said George lightly before taking a mouthful of stewed carrots.

Fred swallowed the bite of roll and scoffed into his glass. “Thanks for that. Great advice,” he said sarcastically before drinking deeply from his cup.

George grabbed his own glass and raised it lightly before answering, “Better advice than you get anywhere else. Cheers, mate.”

* * *

~~**_Dear Harry,_ ** ~~

~~**_How’s your summer going? I hope your aunt and uncle aren’t being too horrible._ ** ~~

~~**_I really wish you were here. Maybe then Ron would have someone else to play chess with. You know how horrible I am at it…_ ** ~~

~~**_I’m sure you’ve been reading the Daily Prophet and by now you’re aware of what they’re saying about you. I’m not really supposed to say anything but, I feel like you should_ ** ~~

* * *

~~**_Dear Harry,_ ** ~~

~~**_I hope your summer’s going better than mine. I know I haven’t said much in my last couple of letters but it’s only because I’m not allowed._ ** ~~

~~**_I really wish that I_ ** ~~

* * *

~~**_Harry,_ ** ~~

~~**_I know I’m not supposed to say anything, but I think that’s rubbish. I think you deserve to know that you’re not alone. Despite the lack of action from the ministry, I want you to know that there are people out there taking this seriously._ ** ~~

~~**_When you get here, you’ll understand._ ** ~~

Hermione crossed out her third attempt at writing Harry before crumpling the parchment and throwing it angrily in the bin beside her. This is impossible, she thought forlornly. She’d been having an internal battle for the past two weeks on whether she should follow Dumbledore’s instructions or go with her gut. Every fibre of her being wanted to tell Harry what was going on, to let him know that he wasn’t alone in this fight. But her foolish and incessant need to follow directions and stay out of trouble stopped her every time. Professor Dumbledore was a wise man. He was smart. Most importantly, he knew a lot more about what was going on than she did. So, it would make sense for her to keep her nose out of all of this and simply follow his lead. But despite her headmaster’s in-depth knowledge on most things, Hermione knew one thing to be true. He didn’t know Harry Potter nearly as well as she did.

Professor Dumbledore had insisted that they needn’t worry Harry on the comings and going of the Order and the efforts being put in place against a now fully risen dark lord. He needed time to heal from what happened the previous year with Cedric Diggory. That was all well and nice except that if you knew Harry at all, then you knew that he _never_ stopped worrying. He was definitely the suffer in silence, woe is me, martyr type and usually the only thing that _did_ stop him from worrying and obsessing was action. Harry Potter needed control, or he’d go insane. Usually this control came in two different forms. The first was distraction. If he couldn’t have direct control of a situation he’d resort to quidditch or flying or something else physical to take his mind off whatever it was. The second was involvement. Harry wouldn’t stop until he’d solved the mystery, and everything was put right in his mind. That’s why they hadn’t ceased their research first year until they figured out the secret to the philosopher’s stone. Or why their second year had ended in Harry fighting a basilisk underneath the school. Or why he’d declared to kill Sirius Black himself when he’d found out what he thought to be the truth of his parent’s deaths.

But Hermione knew that Harry, currently locked in the confines of his aunt and uncle’s muggle neighbourhood, was unable to do either and so she was certain the only thing he’d been doing the past month was stewing in internal misery. The fact that he’d neglected to respond to her and Ron’s letters thus far, not even their birthday wishes, only proved her theory right.

Dumbledore may be an expert on the innerworkings of the ministry, but Hermione was an expert on the innerworkings of Harry Potter. So, surely it would be best if she told him _something_. She had to be able to get some sort of message to him that wouldn’t reveal too much if intercepted by the ministry or Voldemort’s people. Just something that would quell the frustration that was surely rising in her best friend.

However, the right words simply were not coming to her yet, so she rested her quill back down on the table and corked her ink bottle firmly, before moving to her bed and sitting down huffily. She needed to focus on something else or before she knew it she’d turn into Harry.

Picking up the small ball of yarn and worn wooden knitting needles on her bed, Hermione started in on her practice. Recently she’d taken up knitting as both a hobby and a way to further her work with the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. This came entirely from an event that took place a week prior when she’d simultaneously met Kreacher and seen the horror that was the Black family’s legacy of house elves.

_“What ARE those?!” Hermione screamed, jumping back, and toppling into Ron who had been following her into the fourth-floor study._

_They had been tasked with cleaning out the old Black patriarch’s study._

_“Bloody hell, Hermione. What?!” yelled Ron, catching her in his arms and putting her right on her feet._

_But Hermione ignored his question, too overwhelmed by the sickening sight before her. On the wall, sitting above the bookshelves opposite the stately mahogany desk were the heads of house elves mounted to the wall. They hung stuffed, pale, and lifeless like common animals on display. It made her sick._

_“Oh that is twisted,” said Ron, having now entered the room and seen what had made Hermione scream._

_“I—why—who would do something like this?” Hermione asked, torn between her inability to stomach the sight of the house elves’ severed heads, and the sheer shock of it keeping her eyes glued to them._

_“That would be my dear mother again, I’m afraid,” came Sirius’ voice. Hermione imagined he must have been nearby, most likely visiting Buckbeak in the attic, heard her scream, and came to investigate._

_“This is disgusting…this is barbaric. How could anyone do something like this?” she asked, feeling tears begin to well in her eyes._

_“You’d be surprised. It’s an old practice in pureblood families, not really done anymore, but at one time house elves saw it as a badge of honour to have themselves commemorated like this after they died—” Sirius strolled into the room, looking up at the mounted heads, hands casually in his pockets “—I never cared for it though. Absolutely refuse to do it for Kreacher when he finally croaks.”_

_“Kreacher?—” Hermione was finally able to pull her gaze away from the elves to look at Sirius “—you mean there’s a house elf here?”_

_“Course there is!” cried Sirius in surprise, tone laced with a bitter edge._

_“Don’t worry Hermione. He doesn’t do any of the cooking or cleaning or anything like that,” interjected Ron in a reassuring manner that did very little to actually reassure her._

_“How did I not know about this?” she asked, feeling overwhelmed and dazed._

_“Well, my mum always said a good house elf was one that got the job done but was rarely seen. Can’t say that’s very true of Kreacher though. He clearly only holds up half of that statement. In fact—” Sirius, turned looking about the empty study around him “—Kreacher!”_

_With a pop, a small little house elf popped into existence before him. He was different than the house elves Hermione had seen before. He seemed older, more haggard, and dirty. His nose was long and droopy, and the cloth he wore for clothes was so dirty, it looked to be more filth than it was material. Kreacher sneered nastily up at his master and then around the room, spotting Ron and Hermione. Hermione didn’t think it was possible, but his expression turned even nastier once he saw them._

_“Filthy mudblood, blood-traitors alike. Tarnishing my mistress’s house like this,” mumbled the little house elf and catching Hermione completely off guard. You’d think the words would hurt less after hearing them so much in the last four years, but they held a fresh sting every time. The only thing that had changed was her ability to better mask the hurt she felt._

_“Give it a rest you vile little thing,” grimaced Sirius, surprising Hermione even more than Kreacher’s words._

_Ever since she’d arrived at Grimmauld Place, she’d acknowledged that Sirius held a certain disdain to his childhood home. However, she had yet to experience the level of contempt the older wizard held for the house elf before him._

_“Of course Master Black. Kreacher is sorry. What can Kreacher do for you?” responded Kreacher in a mocking tone. The words, while objectively respectful, held no trace of true respect whatsoever._

_“Yes, I’m sure you are,” said Sirius sarcastically. “I need you to dispose of these disgusting relics immediately.” Sirius pointed up at the row of heads, looking as disgusted as Hermione still felt about both them, and the behaviour of the two individuals before her._

_“No! Those are mistress’s! Kreacher refuses,” cried the old house elf in outrage._

_“It was not a request, you disgusting beast. I am your master, and I am ordering you to take those vile things down and throw them away. Do you understand me?” spat Sirius, crossing his arms, and glaring down at Kreacher._

_“Yes master Black. Of course.”_

Hermione had been in such a shock after that that she had left the room and retreated to the kitchen. While she truly needed a cup of tea to calm her nerves, it was still too hot and so she’d allowed Ron to pour her a glass of pumpkin juice as she processed the event. Sure, the things Kreacher said were horrible and hurtful, but look at the way Sirius treated him! Maybe if Kreacher was met with a little kindness, he wouldn’t feel the need to be so mean. And the heads…she didn’t even know where to begin with the heads…

It was at that moment, that Hermione formulated a plan. The house elves clearly needed a way out, whether they knew it or not. So, that afternoon she’d gone to Mrs. Weasley to borrow knitting supplies and get a few lessons.

“Hey Hermione, have you seen Fred and George?” Ron’s voice from the doorway, brought Hermione’s attention away from the complicated mess of yarn in her hands. She’d gotten her knit and purl stitches confused and was currently trying to figure out which direction her yarn was supposed to be facing. Looks like she needed more practice.

“Why would _I_ know where they are?” she asked, frowning back down at her work, and cursing under her breath. A few of her stitches had slipped off her needles.

Ron gave a short laugh, snorting through his nose. “Come on Hermione. You spend more time with them these days than anyone else.”

“I’m—”

“Don’t give me that ‘I’m helping them with their schoolwork’ excuse, Hermione. I’m not thick. You’re helping them with their inventions aren’t you,” said Ron, crossing the room and leaning against one of the posts of Ginny’s bed.

“Just a little,” Hermione admitted sheepishly. There was no point in lying to Ron about it now.

“I knew it!” Ron cried enthusiastically. “Are you also helping fund them? They seem to have a lot more money these days than not.”

“No, I’m not, but I’ve actually been wondering the same thing!” said Hermione with equal fervour. The last she’d heard, the two of them were still trying to get their money back from Ludo Bagman. Perhaps her suggestion of blackmail the previous year had finally worked. Though if it did, she didn’t want to know anything about it.

“Hmm, strange,” Ron commented, staring down at the heap of yarn in her hands in confusion. He was probably wondering what she could possibly be making, but thankfully he was kind enough to not make any comments. “You know helping those two is going to become a conflict of interest when you become a Prefect, right?”

“What makes you think I’m going to make Prefect?”

Ron snorted once again. “Come on Hermione, are you telling me you’ve thought there was any other alternative.”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. As much as she tried to keep a level of humility to her, she had to admit that the notion that any other Gryffindor girl in their year would be chosen for Prefect felt preposterous. This was something she’d been working towards since first year.

“I don’t help them _that_ much. Mostly it’s just a bunch of reading their notes and telling them where their magic is wrong. Nothing wrong with that – it’s educational really,” she half lied.

“Oh yeah. Educational,” Ron snickered, pushing off from the bedpost and walking towards the door. “Well if you do see them, tell them mum’s looking for them.”

“Will do—” Hermione went to return to her knitting but stopped, looking up at his retreating figure “—wait, where are you off to then?”

Ron turned, leaning in the doorframe now. “Professor Lupin’s downstairs. I convinced him to teach me how to play chess.”

“But you already know how to play chess…” Hermione gave him a wry smile.

“Yeah, but _he_ doesn’t know that. I’ve bet Sirius ten sickles I can go at least four games before he realizes I’m hustling him,” said Ron, a large grin spreading across his freckled face.

Hermione let out a small laugh and shook her head before saying, “I swear, you get more and more like Fred and George every day.”

“Those wankers? Absolutely not.”

And with that, Ron disappeared into the hallway, a little more pep in his step than usual. A smile remained plastered on Hermione’s face for long after Ron had left. She felt warm and content in the way only a cheerful and easy encounter with a friend could leave you feeling. Her and Ron had settled into an unspoken understanding after the mortifying bathroom encounter. Of course neither of them spoke of it, both choosing to act as though it had never happened. In a strange way, it was almost as if they needed the uncomfortable situation to become comfortable with each other again. Ron seemed less dopey and more relaxed around her, and as a result Ginny stopped talking about Ron’s feelings for her.

The same sentiment went for twins. It was as if the little bit of chaos was all the group needed to fall back once again into the comfortable friendships that had existed before. Hermione still felt her stomach flip and heartrate increase every time Fred entered a room or brushed past her too closely in the hallway, but she tried to ignore that as much as possible. That was her problem after all, not anyone else’s. And most of all she didn’t want to ruin her friendship with Fred over her stupid crush.

They had grown closer than ever over the past two weeks. Most likely due to their new tradition of late nights in the library of Grimmauld Place. When everyone had retired for the night, tucked in snuggly in their beds, Hermione and Fred would slip from their sheets and reconvene on the old couch of the library, till late in the night. They discussed Fred’s inventions, their interests, and their lives. It usually ended in some kind of debate, but Hermione always found herself laughing in the end. She’d never been able to talk so freely with anyone. It was both a blessing and a curse.

When her yarn had tangled for the fifth time, Hermione sighed and gave up. Instead, she opted to make her way down to the kitchen for a snack. Dinner was soon, but she’d missed tea that afternoon and was feeling too peckish to wait.

“Checkmate,” said Ron proudly as he stared smugly at the rumpled wizard sitting across from him at the kitchen table.

“Hi Professor,” Hermione greeted, eyeing a plate of Chelsea buns on the kitchen counter.

“Hello Hermione,” said Professor Lupin tiredly, his head balanced in his hands as he stared in bewilderment at the chess board in front of him. Sirius sat beside his old friend, snickering silently into his hand.

Hermione suppressed her negative emotions towards the suave, long-haired wizard. Seeing the way he treated Kreacher had left her less than pleased with him.

“You swear you’ve never played before?” Professor Lupin questioned Ron suspiciously.

Ron shook his head in mock innocence and Hermione had to turn away in hide her smile.

She grabbed a bun, taking a large bite out of it and sitting down at the table beside Ron to watch him square off with their old teacher again. The pair had gotten through exactly five and a half games before Professor Lupin had declared in frustration that there was no way Ron had never played wizard’s chess before.

Everyone in the room burst into laughter at that point, the twins and Ginny having wandered into the kitchen and joined in on the fun knowing full well that Ron was better at wizard’s chess than anyone they’d ever met. After that Professor Lupin refused to play anymore games, but Sirius and George stepped up to try and beat Ron in a combined effort.

Ron had just managed to corner their queen when Mr. Weasley came striding into the room with purpose.

“Hey dad!” Ginny greeted cheerfully. But her good humour melted away when her father ignored her greeting.

Arthur Weasley looked worried. Worried and frantic. Hermione had only ever seen that expression on his face once before – at the Quidditch World Cup.

“Remus, Sirius, emergency Order meeting now. Where’s Molly?”

“She’s upstairs I think, shall I go get her?” asked Sirius.

“No, I’ll go. Other members should be arriving soon, have them meet in the dining room.”

Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George were all ushered out of the kitchen shortly after that. None of their pleas to stay or questions were acquiesced or answered of course. So instead, they opted to sit at the top of the stairs and gleam as much information as they could from the members that entered headquarters. Hermione assumed it must be serious. Ron told her that they had never had an emergency meeting like this before. This fact was only solidified in her mind when Dumbledore arrived looking quite grave, his long robes billowing behind him as he stormed down the entry hall and disappeared through the doorway to the dining room. Professor Snape was with him, a fact that caught Hermione by surprise.

“Professor Snape is in the Order?” she asked George sitting next to her.

He nodded and whispered back, “Unfortunately. The slimy git only comes around every once in a while. Always thought he’d be on the other side, but if Dumbledore trusts him, then he must know something we don’t.”

“It’s clear he knows a lot of things we don’t,” said Hermione, beginning to worry the inside of her bottom lip. It had to be Harry. Something this serious and this panicked always had to do with Harry.

That suspicion was confirmed a few hours later at dinner when Mr. Weasley told them that Harry had been accused of underage magic by the ministry earlier that night. Apparently, the ministry had tried to expel him outright, but Professor Dumbledore had insisted on a trial before they went to such extreme punishment. Hermione was more concerned as to why Harry needed to use magic at all than the thought of him being expelled. Apparently he had produced a patronus in front of a muggle. There was only one reason Harry would produce a patronus – dementors. Dementors in a muggle suburb? Now that was cause for concern on many levels.

Hermione ate very little at dinner, too consumed by the problem at hand. The ministry had complete control of the dementors. Only they could dispatch dementors away from Azkaban. Was this the Minister’s way of getting rid of Harry? To easily solve their problem of him? If this didn’t work, what else would they do? What lengths would they go to silence Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter?

A little voice in the back of her head proposed that perhaps Harry had gone looking for trouble that night. Or worked himself up so much that he imagined the dementors and tried to play the hero. Guiltily she thought of the half-finished unsent letters in the garbage bin in her room and wondered if this would have happened if she hadn’t been too meek to break the rules and give her best friend a glimmer of hope.

All these thoughts and questions stuck with her well into the night. Lying in bed, staring up at the darkness of the ceiling above, sleep evaded her worse than ever before. Sitting up, Hermione peaked over at Ginny’s snoring form in the bed beside hers and slipped from the covers. She padded silently out of the room, down the hall, and down the stairs to the library. While the days events had been out of the ordinary, Hermione hoped that her and Fred’s tradition would remain, and she would find him in the library. The urge to talk to him itched at the back of her head fervently.

However, when she got to library, she found the door cracked and the whispered voices of Professor Lupin and Sirius drifted out. Hermione held her breath, turning away from the door and tiptoeing back towards the stairs. She didn’t need to listen in on their conversation to know they were most like talking about Harry. Once back on the third floor, Hermione found herself at a standstill. She should go back to bed. It was no use wandering the dark and grim house at night when she was already out of sorts. However, instead of making her way to her own bed, Hermione found herself walking not to her door, but Fred and George’s. Like an invisible pull at her centre, she gravitated towards it like a planet in orbit.

Not bothering to knock considering the late hour, Hermione quietly opened the door and slipped inside. She walked silently to Fred’s bed and found him sound asleep. She’d never seen him asleep before – up until that point she didn’t think she could be any more handsome than he already was, but up until that point she’d never seen him blissfully gone to the world.

As if sensing her presence, his eyes opened, blinking slowly as he took in her presence.

“’Mione? I thought you’d gone to bed. Went looking for you earlier but Black and Lupin were in the library,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly.

“I can’t sleep…”

They stared at each other in the dark for what felt like ages. It was as if they were experiencing group thought, both of them teetering on the edge of a decision they were both unsure of. Hermione should go back to her own room. She shouldn’t be sneaking into the room of a boy who had a girlfriend. She should be—

“Get in,” Fred whispered, lifting the covers, and pushing them both of the edge.

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice. She slipped into the covers, burying herself deeply into their warmth. It had been a heatwave for the past two weeks, but the house felt colder that night than it ever had.

“Merlin, your feet are _freezing_ ,” Fred whispered when Hermione’s feet accidentally brushed his own.

Hermione moved them away quickly. “Sorry,” she whispered back in embarrassment.

Fred surprised her by reaching down and hook his hand around the back of her leg and pulling her feet flush with his own. “Give ‘em here,” he grumbled before releasing her leg and settling back into the mattress with a deep sigh.

Hermione smiled into the darkness and rolled over onto her side. She kept a safe distance of propriety between them, making sure the only thing touching was their feet. Her head fell heavy on the pillow and for the first time that night she was able to relax.

“Fred?” she whispered tentatively.

“What?” came the soft sound of Fred’s voice back.

“Thank you.”

Fred didn’t answer, instead he shifted, and Hermione felt his hand fall atop hers, gripping it tightly. It took barely minutes for Hermione to fall asleep to the firm and grounding feel of Fred’s thumb rubbing the delicate skin on the back of her hand.


	18. Until the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred and Hermione deal with the crazy aftermath of Harry's brush with dementors. Hermione find conflict within herself over her feelings for her headmaster, Professor Dumbledore. Fred just wishes the mornings would last longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one this week my loves, but still very good in my opinion. Next few chapters get exciting, so strap in and enjoy this sweet little thing before then. 
> 
> I'm back to my normal posting schedule - Sundays before midnight (US MST). 
> 
> And as always, feel free to leave kudos and comments! I love to hear your thoughts! 
> 
> xoxo

* * *

_You’ve got a famous last name_

_But you’re not to blame_

_Baby, I see you for who you are_

* * *

Early morning sunlight woke Fred that day the way it normally did. Ever the early riser, it had to be barely five in the morning considering the fact that the sun was just breaking over the horizon. Usually he spent his mornings in comfortable solitude. He could do research without George constantly asking questions or tinker with his inventions without his mum interrupting. Back at the burrow he would often go for a morning fly or drink tea in the garden. But that morning when he rolled over in his bed, the cotton sheets twisting between his legs, he was compelled to do little else but stare at the girl beside him.

Hermione Granger. In his bed. Imagine that. They weren’t wrapped around each other like the morning in the library. She was a good foot away, arms tucked under a pillow and head turned facing him. But somehow, it felt even more intimate than then. Sleeping in the same bed as a girl without doing anything, not even touching, it felt very grown up in a weird way. Fred imagined it’s what proper couples did. Except they weren’t a couple. But still, in the peaceful silence with the sound of her soft breathing and the heat of her body radiating from across the mattress, Fred thought it would be very easy to pretend that they were. To pretend for just a moment that he was good and lucky enough to do something so adult and dare he say romantic with Hermione. Fred felt a pull in the pit of his stomach as the witch across from him gave a little shaky breath in her sleep.

His thoughts went back to his conversation with George at dinner a few weeks ago. He was honest when he voiced his worries then. Was the way he felt for Hermione the same way he felt for Angelina? Perhaps a few months ago he’d have said yes. But now, looking at the witch in his bed, he was pretty sure he’d never felt this way with Angelina. He wasn’t sure what that “way” was, but it was certainly different from any “way” he’s felt before. He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, staring at Hermione. It might have been a few minutes, or it might have been an hour. It didn’t really matter.

When the colour in the room began to shift from warm oranges to light yellows, he decided it was probably best to wake Hermione before George woke up. The last thing he needed was a repeat of the library. Speaking of George. Looking over his shoulder, he saw his twin’s head still buried deeply under a mound of pillows and sighed in relief. Fred reached out and rested his hand on Hermione’s shoulder. He rubbed up and down the length of her arm gently.

“Hey,” he said, voice so low you could barely call it a whisper.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open and her mouth stretched wide in a yawn. For a moment, confusion flashed across her face, quickly replaced by recognition and a light blush.

“Hi,” she whispered back, the side of her head pressing further into the pillow.

There was a brief silence as Fred decided on what to say next. There were plenty of things he _wanted_ to say, but all of them fell flat now that Hermione was staring back at him. So instead, he landed on something easy. “Tea?”

Hermione nodded and sat up cautiously, sneaking a glance over at George like Fred had done moments before. The pair tiptoed out of the room and down the hall before descending the stairs and entering the kitchen. It was empty, although the still-warm kettle and smell of baking bread told Fred that his mother was sure to be nearby. He always assumed he must have gotten his proclivity to early mornings from her. Fred approached the kettle, ready to fill it with fresh water and prepare their tea, but Hermione stopped him.

“I’ve got it. You sit,” she murmured, her voice lower and gravelly, having just woken up.

So Fred sat and watched Hermione put the kettle on and slowly prepared their tea. It would have been faster if she had just let him do it with magic, but he could feel the nervous energy rolling off of the witch like a thick fog. He figured she probably needed a moment if she felt anything like he did. A few minutes later they were sat next to each other, straddling the bench seat of the kitchen table, and facing each other – a cup of tea nestled in each of their hands.

Fred took a tentative sip from his cup and relished in the taste. She’d made it perfectly. Strongly brewed with just a splash of milk. He tried not to focus too hard on the warmth that filled his chest at the thought that she’d remembered how he took his tea. Afterall, they’d had tea together enough now for it to be normal. Surely, she knew how Ginny took her tea as well, or George and Ron and Harry even. Fred couldn’t be that special. But then, it was his bed she had gone to last night. Not Ginny’s or George’s or Ron’s.

“So…” Fred began, scratching the back of his head. He felt a prominent part in his hair from where he’d slept on it and was suddenly self-conscious of the state of himself. It was an odd feeling. He’d never cared too much about his appearance before. He ran a hand over it, trying to fix the mess as discreetly as possible.

“So…” Hermione mimicked, chewing on the inside of her bottom lip. Fred watched as the sleep swollen skin tugged inward, coming back slightly damp once she finally released the abused flesh. “I’m sorry if last night was…inappropriate in any way.”

“No!” Fred said a bit too quickly for his liking. He cleared his throat, taking a bigger sip of his tea and scalding the back of his tongue but bringing a bit more clarity to his mind. “I mean, no. It wasn’t—it was fine.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders relaxing a bit. “Okay, good. I was worried you might think it was invasive. I just—”

“—no. You’re more than welcome in my bed anytime. That came out wrong.” Fred scrunched up his face, eyes closing tightly when he realized how his words sounded. He was making a right mess of this. He tried again, “I just meant…do you want to talk about it?”

Silently he really hoped she did, because he needed someone besides himself to speak for fear of saying something else stupid.

Hermione looked down pensively at her cup of tea, thumb rubbing at the side of the cup and face twisting in that oh so familiar Hermione way. “I suppose I should. I’m worried, obviously. About Harry and the Ministry and what’s going to happen. And I can’t help but feel responsible—”

“For what?” Fred couldn’t help but interrupt. Responsible? For what happened to Harry? Ridiculous. “Hermione, none of this is your fault.”

“Not directly, no. But I know Harry. I knew when Professor Dumbledore told us to keep him in the dark that it was a mistake. He’s just so reckless sometimes and he doesn’t think. I should have gone with my instinct and written him anyways,” Hermione confessed, continuing to look down guiltily at her tea.

“Hermione, you can’t blame yourself. There’s no way you could have known that this was going to happen.”

“Except, I sort of did, didn’t I.”

“Well that’s what you get for being so clever,” said Fred, immediately regretting the words. Perhaps now wasn’t the time to make light of a situation. However, his worries were quelled when Hermione let out a short and breathy laugh.

“Stop it,” she smiled, looking up at him through her lashes.

“What?” Fred asked innocently, now smiling himself.

“Doing that thing you do.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you make everything feel like it’s going to be alright. It makes sulking incredibly difficult.” Hermione lifted a foot and pushed playfully at his shin with her toes.

Fred couldn’t help the genuine smile that spread across his face and melted into his heart.

“Who would I be if I didn’t make light of a situation?” It was his turn to lift his foot and push playfully at her leg.

“Certainly not Fred Weasley,” Hermione responded, both of her feet then moving forward to rest on the tops of his own. Fred left them there, wondering if it was inappropriate but ultimately decided that no, it was only feet.

“Morning—" a yawning Ron came around the corner and into the room “—is the water still hot?”

Hermione sat up straighter at the entrance of her friend, moving her right foot off the top of his left. The small change made Fred frown, but the fact that she kept her left foot, the one protected by the cover of the kitchen table, right where it was, made him feel a bit better. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit of resentment towards his little brother.

“Morning,” Hermione greeted Ron kindly.

“How long have you two been up?” Ron asked, pouring himself a cup of tea, and sitting down across from them with a heavy thud.

“Not long. You’re up early,” said Fred, just then realizing that Ron was in fact up uncharacteristically early.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Ron mumbled, sipping his tea.

Fred and Hermione nodded in understanding.

They sat there, quietly sipping their tea at the kitchen table. It wasn’t long before they realized that the house they’d previously assumed to be desolate in the early hours, was actually uncommonly busy, even for headquarters standards. Fred’s mother was the first to enter the small kitchen, taking out the loaves of bread from the oven and using a towel to cool them quickly before cutting off thick slices. Then came his father which was odd as it was a Tuesday, and he would normally be at the Ministry. His brother Bill, who’d taken a desk job to be closer for the Order, came running through grabbing a piece of bread and greeting them cheerily before disappearing. By the time the clock struck seven in the morning, they’d seen at least twenty witches and wizards cross through the kitchen. Some were very serious, like their father, Lupin, Moody, and Kingsley. Others had a more relaxed mood like Tonks, Sirius, and Fletcher. Fred was surprised Mundungus Fletcher had the gall to be anything but a nervous wreck considering, from what he heard, he was one of the soul reasons Harry was in this mess.

Still, as he watched the scrambling adults run to and fro throughout the house, Fred couldn’t help but find a small amount of humour. Try as he and George might, they could never cause this amount of discourse. Only Harry Potter could thrum up chaos like this. He hoped the stupid git was alright. For Hermione’s sake but also for his own. Harry had become something like another little brother to him over the years and he didn’t know what he’d do if he was expelled. Probably Dungbomb the whole Ministry or charm all the doorknobs in the building to move when you tried to use them. That seemed somewhat fitting.

It was around seven thirty in the morning when the tap of an owl came from the kitchen window. All three of them looked up to see Harry’s snowy owl, Hedwig, sitting on the ledge. Hermione was the first to leap to her feet. Crossing the kitchen she swung the window open and let Hedwig in. Ron was at her side a few seconds later, feeding the bird a piece of bread and taking a rolled-up scroll from Hermione.

There were three scrolls: one addressed to Hermione, one addressed to Ron, and lastly, one addressed to Sirius.

Hermione and Ron’s scrolls said the same thing and Fred could only assume that Sirius’s did as well:

**_I’ve just been attacked by Dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts. I want to know what’s going on and when I’m going to get out of here._ **

Hermione sat down heavily at the table again, staring down at the parchment.

“What do we tell him?” asked Ron, taking a large bite of bread, and chewing broodingly.

“I mean, we have to tell him something. Don’t we?” asked Hermione, looking at them both with a conflicted expression.

Hedwig flew across the kitchen and perched herself next to Hermione. She reached a hand up to stroke the brilliantly white bird but let out a little yelp and a hiss when it bit her finger. Ron attempted to shoo Hedwig away from Hermione but was met with the same fate.

“Ow! Bloody bird,” grumbled Ron, cradling his bleeding hand.

The bird made another attempt to bite at Hermione and Fred batted her away. Hedwig gave an indignant hoot and flew back to the kitchen counter looking decidedly put out.

“We can’t tell him anything, Hermione. You remember what Dumbledore said,” said Ron.

“Yes, and look where that’s gotten us,” spat Hermione.

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, but even if the Ministry or You-Know-Who weren’t intercepting owls before, they’re more likely to be doing it now.”

Fred thought this was incredibly astute of his little brother. Hermione must have thought so too as she took to chewing on her lip and staring glumly at her empty teacup instead of arguing back.

“We can’t not write back at all. We have to say _something_ ,” Hermione finally said, sounding crestfallen.

“Maybe dad will know what to do,” said Ron, standing up and exiting the kitchen to go and search for their father.

It was then just Hermione and Fred in the kitchen once again and Fred took the brief moment of privacy to reach out and place a hand on Hermione’s knee.

“Hey, it’s gonna be alright. All these people haven’t been running around like chickens with their heads cut off to _not_ help Harry. He’s got the full force of the Order behind him. We just have to be patient – not worry,” he said, hoping that his words helped and didn’t just sound like empty positive affirmations.

Hermione sighed heavily before responding, “You’re right. I just hate feeling useless.”

“Well if you want distraction, I can help with that.”

He didn’t mean for the words to sound so provocative. In the hectic morning, he’d almost forgotten that they’d shared a bed all night. Hermione however apparently had not forgotten as she blushed a pretty shade of pink from her chest to her hairline, eyes growing slightly wide.

“There’s plenty of things to work on for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes and you can always knit some more—” Fred thought on his feet, coming up with something that would draw away from his previous statement “—From what I’ve seen, you could really do with some improvement.”

Hermione scoffed, eyes growing even wider now but this time out of surprise from the sheer cheek of his statement, rather than the implication of something more inappropriate. She slapped him lightly on the arm and Fred snickered. He stood then, stretching out the kinks and stiffness from sitting too long so early in the morning.

“Come on then, best get dressed and sorted. We have a long day ahead of us – I’m thinking we start on brewing a few batches of Fever Fudge. I got that shipment of pigeon berry in yesterday and then there’s the Nosebleed Nougats. They need a bit more tweaking. The mustard root works but a bit _too_ well. Practically felt the blood thickening in my veins the other day—”

“Probably too much, or perhaps the potency of the mustard root is too high, have you thought of diluting it?” Hermione asked, standing as well. Fred smiled, liking that he could practically see the cogs in her brain whirring over something that wasn’t Harry Potter and the Wizarding world’s impending doom.

“I was thinking perhaps just cutting the amount in half—” Fred climbed off of the bench and headed towards the kitchen door “—Oh, we also need to work on the Puking Pastilles and then George was saying something about packaging the other day.”

“Yes, I was there. I believe he was saying that you _needed_ some. Packaging makes half the product, you know—” Hermione followed him “—have you heard of the plant ipecacuanha? It grows in South America and muggles use it to induce vomiting.”

Fred gave a dry short bark of a laugh. “No need to lecture _me_ on the importance of style versus substance.”

“I made _one_ comment on the colour of your shirt Frederick _once_ and you still can’t let it go.”

“How can I when it—” Fred stopped, nearly colliding with someone in the kitchen doorway. “Oh sorry mate,” Fred apologized casually, only then realizing that it wasn’t just a random Order member, he’d almost walked into, but his headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

“Professor Dumbledore—” Fred blanched “—I didn’t mean-I’m sorry—” Could he get detention for calling his headmaster ‘mate’ if it was still the summer holiday? Fred wondered briefly.

“It’s quite alright Mr. Weasley,” said Dumbledore kindly, giving him a calm and polite smile.

“Did you need my mum or dad? Or maybe Sirius?” Fred asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder vaguely.

“I was actually hoping to speak with Ms. Granger and your brother.”

“Which one? I’ve got about twenty of ‘em,” responded Fred, immediately regretting his knee-jerk reaction to be funny in uncomfortable situations.

Luckily, Dumbledore merely continued to smile, the corner of his mouth twitching up ever so higher than before. “Your younger brother, Ronald please.” 

“Right. He went to go find dad. I’ll go get him.” Fred gave a quick glance over his shoulder at Hermione who looked at Dumbledore with an unreadable expression on her face.

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley. Have him meet us in the second-floor parlour, please,” said Dumbledore, staring back at Hermione now with an even more unreadable expression.

Fred nodded, stepping around his headmaster and heading towards the dining room to search for Ron.

* * *

There was something very odd and uncomfortable about sitting in a room with your headmaster wearing nothing but your pyjamas, thought Hermione. Especially when you currently had a slight disliking for him. There were a thousand things she wanted to say to the aged man swimming through her brain. Some of it was polite – fair questions about Harry and what their plan was to help him. Some of it was not so nice – stinging insults and belittling of ability to properly lead. The rude thoughts were much louder than the nice ones. So loud, in fact, that Hermione was surprised Professor Dumbledore couldn’t hear them pouring out of her ears. Still, out of all these thoughts she decided to refrain from saying anything until Ron was there and the old man had said what he had to say. Although, Hermione had a good guess what he came to tell them, and she wasn’t at all looking forward to hearing it.

Ron came bursting through the door not too long after her and Professor Dumbledore entered the parlour. Hermione sat gingerly on the edge of the settee this time, leaving only the armchairs for her headmaster. She didn’t mean for the choice in seating to be a power move, but when the bearded man raised an eyebrow giving her a curious look behind his half-mooned spectacles, she realized that taking his previous seat of choice it could be construed that way. In silence response, Professor Dumbledore chose to remain standing. Hermione didn’t know if this was deliberate or not. Ron sat next to her, looking for a moment as if he were going to reach out and cover the hand that sat tensely on her knee with his own. He shook his head slightly, apparently thinking better of it. This, Dumbledore rose an eyebrow to as well – nosey old man.

Their headmaster paced quietly in front of them, his long fingers steepled in front of him. After a few minutes Hermione wondered why he had asked them to meet with him at all if he wasn’t going to speak. Surely this was a waste of time.

“Sir, Ron and I both received messages from Harry this morning,” said Hermione, unable to bear the silence anymore.

Professor Dumbledore stopped, his steepled fingers breaking apart as he turned to them.

“Ahh, I assumed as much. I also assume that he sent a message to his Godfather as well?” It was a question, but he said it with such conviction that it sounded more like a statement.

They nodded.

“He wants to know what’s going on, yes?”

They nodded again.

“I trust you have not given him any information.” The statement was slightly chiding. As if they were small children and he a well-mannered parent reminding them of the rules.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but Ron beat her to it.

“No, Professor. We haven’t.”

“Good, that’s good,” said Professor Dumbledore distantly, and he began to pace again.

Hermione felt herself prickle. Where was the formidable man she’d seen the night before, storming into headquarters, leader of the Order of the Phoenix, fire ablaze in his eyes and purpose in his step? He looked ready to fight an entire army then, but not now. Here, he was distractedly contemplating something as if they had all the time in the world.

“Sir, I know you said that it’s important not to write anything that could give information away, but shouldn’t we at least write back? I’m sure Harry is crawling up the walls right now, wondering what’s going on. Don’t you think it’s best we give him _something_?” Hermione stared hard at her headmaster, feeling conflicted. This was a man she’d looked up to for years. It felt wrong to question him, or worse feel a waning for the respect she held.

Professor Dumbledore seemed to contemplate her question for a moment, before turning to them both and answering, “No, I don’t think it is.”

In the end their headmaster had made them both swear to not write Harry back at all. Not even a single word. By the time he’d swept out of the room and Hermione and Ron had made their way back up to the third floor, Hermione was beyond frustrated.

She slammed the door to Ron’s room open and barged in. It was her time to pace the floor, but instead of imitating Professor Dumbledore’s steady and sure steps, she took quick and angry strides.

“Ridiculous! It’s absolutely ridiculous! Barmy old man…” Hermione seethed, placing her hands on her hips. She could feel her hair growing in crackling frustration and for once she didn’t try to flatten it. She didn’t care. The only thing she did care about in that moment was Harry.

“Hermione…” Ron began, sitting down on his bed.

“I knew it! I knew we should have given him something more than ‘Hey Harry, sorry your summer’s crap, but there’s big stuff happening here. We’re so busy, wish you were here!’. I just _knew it_.”

“Hermione—”

“I mean, who is he to decide what’s best for Harry? He barely knows him!” Hermione threw her hands up into the air.

“Hermione,” Ron said a bit more forcefully this time, pulling Hermione out of her rage and back into the present. “Look, I know it sucks, but we’ve got to follow orders. I mean, he is the adult after all and we’re just kids. Bit low on the pecking order to be making big Order decisions.”

Hermione slumped, sitting down on the bed next to him and laughing cynically. “Since when are you the practical one and I’m the hot-headed one?”

Ron laughed as well. “Well, you’ve always been hot-headed, but my talk with dad before Dumbledore got here helped put it in perspective. He said, it’s best not to send anything Harry’s way because they’re planning on going and getting him. They don’t want anyone knowing – makes it more safe I suppose.”

“I know…I guess it’s just that…Harry’s going to be _so mad_ at us,” groaned Hermione, letting her head fall into her hands.

“Maybe he’ll understand once we explain everything,” Ron proposed.

Hermione shot him a wary look and Ron looked back at her with a tired but hopeful expression. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, before breaking out into a light laughter.

“You’re right—” Ron breathed deeply “—he’s gonna be furious.”

“He’ll probably yell at us,” sighed Hermione.

“And do that self-pitying thing where he says we couldn’t possibly understand,” added Ron.

Hermione gave a humourless laugh through her nose.

“Sorry if your visit hasn’t been as fun as you expected,” said Ron lightly.

His comment caught Hermione off guard. It was an incredibly thoughtful thing to say.

“It hasn’t been too bad. Better than spending the summer at my grandparents. At least here I have friends and of course, it’s never boring,” laughed Hermione, giving Ron a small smile.

The ginger boy smiled back, glancing to the hands in her lap in the same contemplative manner as in the parlour. This time, however, he did reach out and take her hand in his. His hand was nice, warm, and friendly, and while Hermione wanted so desperately to just enjoy the weight and comfort of it, she couldn’t help but think of how it didn’t feel anything like Fred’s. It was nice nonetheless and so she let it be, placing her right hand over his and squeezing it firmly. Ron really was a good friend when he wanted to be.

And Ron wasn’t the only good friend that week. It seemed the five of them: Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Fred, and George, all took turns the next three days acting as each other’s emotional supports. Every time one of them showed the slightest bit of worry or stress when it came to the topic of Harry, the others would band together to distract them. The twins were the best at it, having had years of practice distracting people, but Hermione found that Ginny was best at changing the subject with George. All she had to do was say she could do something better than him and he was immediately on the defence, demanding that they hold some kind of competition. Ron was surprisingly good with Ginny. He had gotten into the habit of spouting his opinions on certain quidditch teams whenever his little sister seemed to be in a mood. And Hermione found she could pull Fred out of whatever pensive thought he was having by teasing him over silly things like the way he held his quill or how he wrote the letter G. He seemed to get both endless amount of confusion and entertainment from the odd comments and it was easy to not focus on serious things when you were debating something as inconsequential as how to properly write a letter.

Mrs. Weasley also kept them busy. Tasks seemed to triple in amount and intricacy after Harry’s run-in with the dementors. Hermione knew it was to keep them out of the way. There were more Order members in and out of headquarters that week than there had been the entire time she’d been there that summer. Mrs. Weasley so desperately wanted them to know as little as possible about what the Order was up to, especially the twins. Hermione still remembered the way the Weasley matriarch had turned three shades of red when Fred and George stated they wanted to go with the party that was to pick Harry up that Friday night. You’d reckon she was a tea kettle with the way steam poured from her ears at the notion.

“You know she only said no because she cares, right?” Hermione said later that night in a whisper. George was sleeping soundly in bed beside them and while he was a sound sleeper, neither of them wanted to chance waking him up. Sirius and Professor Lupin were in the library once again. They had hogged the space since Harry’s brush with the dementors and while Hermione had come to think of the library as her and Fred’s space, she couldn’t really be mad. It was Sirius Black’s home. Not hers.

“I’m annoyingly aware of that,” whispered Fred back, pouting a bit like a child. “I just wish she cared a little less.”

“No you don’t,” said Hermione, giving him a pointed look before yawning deeply. It was late.

Fred caught the yawn, laying down and pulling his covers fully over him. “Are you staying?” he asked, so casually you would have thought he was asking if she’d like a late-night cuppa and not whether she’d be sharing his bed again.

Hermione was a bit torn. On one hand, yes she very much did want to stay and on the other, she didn’t fancy someone finding them or worse, Angelina finding out. The other girl already didn’t like her. Still…

“Just for a bit longer. Then I really should go back to my room,” said Hermione, laying down as well and bringing her face parallel with Fred’s. “Harry’s going to be angry, you know.”

“Hmm?” hummed Fred sleepily, eyes now closed as his head rested on the pillows.

“When he gets here tomorrow night. He’s probably going to yell – mostly at me and Ron. He always likes to yell at us when things get tough. I imagine it’s easier since we’re his friends. Ya know?” Hermione twisted up her face at the thought. Why _was_ it so much easier to be mad at those you were closest to?

“Do you want me and George to keep an ear out? We can pop in if he gets particularly nasty.”

Hermione’s heart gave a little tug at Fred’s sweet and sleepy offer. “It’s just Harry. He’s been through a lot. I can handle him,” she responded half-heartedly.

“I couldn’t care if he were Merlin himself. Doesn’t mean he gets to yell at you.”

Those were Fred’s last words before he fell into a deep and peaceful sleep. It was much deserved too. When they weren’t distracting each other or doing one of the endless chores Mrs. Weasley gave them, Hermione was keeping their noses to the grindstone when it came to their business. Less than a month left of the summer and she insisted that they get a good inventory if they were going to take out more advertisements in once the school year started. Plus brewing got a bit difficult with classes and other school obligations. As a result, both her and the twins were looking more tired these days. But then in the moonlit room, it was nice to see Fred’s face relaxed in sleep. He looked young and peaceful and devastatingly handsome. Hermione’s eyes played connect the dots with the freckles on his face for a while, making a game out of it. She tried to spot as many constellations as she could on the cloudless map of his face. He had Cygnus over the bridge of his nose and Gemini right under his left eye.

Those were Hermione’s last thoughts before she fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little side note - if you haven't noticed already, all chapters are named after a Norah Jones' song that I feel speak a little on the tone of the chapter. 
> 
> Do you enjoy that? I guess your opinions on it thus far are a bit inconsequential considering I'm 18 chapters deep into it and will have to continue, but I thought I'd ask, nonetheless. Has anyone gone and listened to the songs? 
> 
> xoxo


	19. Shoot The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer has ended and students are headed to the King's Cross to begin another year at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy :) 
> 
> I post every Sunday before midnight MST. 
> 
> Please feel free to comment and leave kudos! I love hearing your thoughts! 
> 
> xoxo FanFictionaries

* * *

_Summer days are gone too soon_

_You shoot the moon_

_And miss completely_

_And now you’re left to face the gloom_

_The empty room that once smelled sweetly_

_Of all the flowers you plucked if only_

_You knew the reason_

_Why you had to each be lonely_

_Was it just the season?_

* * *

Hermione Granger was nothing if not a punctual person. At the best of times she was fifteen minutes early and at the worst she was on time. However, she should have known that the Weasley family would want to stick true to their tradition of arriving at King’s Cross by the skin of their teeth. Tapping her foot impatiently as she stood in the busy kitchen, Hermione worked very hard at fighting off a headache. Mrs. Weasley was screaming at the twins for charming their trunks and accidentally knocking Ginny down two flights of stairs and Walburga was screaming because Mrs. Weasley was screaming. She checked her watch for the umpteenth time that morning and ran a hand over her hair. They may not even make it on time at all if they carried on this way, she thought irksomely. Especially if they waited any longer on Sturgis Podmore to show up like Moody wanted them to. The last thing she needed was to miss the train on her first day as a Prefect. Smirking to herself, Hermione stared down at the silver pin fitted snuggly to the front of her jumper and admired it. Prefect. She had done it. Just one step closer to Head Girl.

A tap at the kitchen window brought Hermione out of her musings. Looking up she saw the brilliant, snowy visage of Hedwig. Hermione sighed, striding towards the window, and throwing it open. Hedwig flew in, looking quite flustered for a bird. Perhaps she also knew they were running late. Cursing in her head, Hermione wondered if perhaps her parents had forgotten that today was the day she left for Hogwarts. Why else would they have chosen to send Hedwig back so late in the morning? She took the letter from her parents out of Hedwig’s clutch and then allowed the bird to climb onto her shoulder. The owl’s long talons dug sharply into her skin, holding on for dear life as Hermione sprinted out of the kitchen and up the stairs. On the second floor landing she spotted Crookshanks stalking a stray mouse and scooped him up as well. The giant orange beast squirmed in her arms, putting up a fight but possessing enough respect to keep his claws put away.

“Oh stop, Crooks. Honestly, you’ve spent all summer doing whatever you please. Just cooperate with me for one second,” Hermione groaned, holding onto her cat even tighter and bounding up the last flight of stairs to Harry and Ron’s room.

“Sorry Harry! Mum and dad only just sent Hedwig back,” she apologized, walking across her friends’ messy room to place Hedwig in her cage. “Are you just now getting dressed?”

“Uh yeah, I slept late,” Harry mumbled, buttoning the last button on his shirt, and moving to pull on his socks and shoes.

Hermione sighed, placing Crookshanks down on the bed and taking a moment to stare critically at her best friend. Harry had mentioned the resurgence of his nightmares earlier in the summer when she found him wandering the halls late at night. She had been on her way back to her room from another late-night library session with Fred, but of course she didn’t tell Harry that. While what her and Fred were doing wasn’t necessarily wrong, there was an unspoken agreement between the two of them that they should keep it to themselves. People just wouldn’t understand.

However, looking at Harry now, Hermione didn’t need her former knowledge of Harry’s nightmares to know that he wasn’t sleeping well. He had circles under his eyes, and despite Mrs. Weasley’s cooking the past month he still looked too thin.

“How’s Ginny?” Harry asked, tying his laces.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “She’s fine. Mrs. Weasley is patching her up in the kitchen. I wouldn’t go down there right now though if I were you. It’s a zoo. Mrs. Weasley and Walburga are still yelling and now Mad-Eye’s complaining that we can’t leave until Sturgis Podmore shows up. Otherwise the guard will be one short,” said Hermione, leaning against the end of the bed and petting Crookshanks idly.

“Guard?” Harry asked, looking up from his shoes. “We have to go to King’s Cross with a guard?”

“ _You_ have to go to King’s Cross with a guard,” corrected Hermione.

“Why?” questioned Harry, standing up in an irritated fashion.

Hermione scoffed, “Why do you think, oh Boy Who Lived?”

“I thought Voldemort was supposed to be lying low. What, do they think he’ll be waiting behind a dustbin at the train station, waiting to do me in?”

“I don’t know. It’s just what Mad-Eye says,” said Hermione, fighting to stay calm and sympathetic. She was getting a bit tired of Harry’s moody demeanour.

Her assumption about Harry’s arrival at the beginning of the month had been correct. Harry had been irate. At everyone, but especially at her and Ron. Luckily, Fred and George swooped in at the right time, just like Fred had said they would. Bless the both of them. Hermione didn’t know how much more chastising she could take, she already felt guilty for not writing to him. She’d apologized at least a thousand times over in the last month, but Harry still had a sour mood and while Hermione had been prone to tears at the beginning, now she was just frustrated.

“Look, I’m not too happy about it either. Do you think I want to be late today?” Hermione asked snippily, looking at her watch once again.

“Will you lot get down here now?!” Mrs. Weasley’s bolstering voice boomed up through the stairwell and Hermione pushed off the bed with a sigh. She grabbed Crookshanks in her arms once again and headed towards the door. “Are you coming?” she asked once she got to the doorway.

“Yeah, right behind you,” nodded Harry, looking a bit pink in the face. Perhaps her comment had embarrassed him. Hermione smiled at the thought. It would do him good to remember he wasn’t the only one with problems in the world.

Hermione hurried down the stairs, running into the twins halfway down.

“Well if it isn’t our favourite little Prefect,” said George, reaching out and ruffling the top of Hermione’s head. Hermione batted his hand away before reaching the bottom of the stairs and placing Crookshanks in his carrier.

“I’m not speaking with you two,” she sniffed, looking away from them and instead focusing her attention on getting the finicky latch closed tightly on her cat’s wicker carrier.

“Oh? Why’s that Hermione?” the two asked in unison.

“I’m annoyed with you both,” responded Hermione in an off-handed manner.

“Annoyed?” asked Fred with a shocked tone.

“With us?” asked George, sounding equally as surprised.

“That can’t be right—” Fred leaned against the wall beside her and took the strap from Hermione’s hands, latching the carrier closed with ease “—we’re angels, we are.”

“You knocked your sister down two flights of stairs!”

“By accident!” cried Fred and George.

“Yes, well still. I hope you know that I will not tolerate that kind of behaviour once we get to Hogwarts.”

“I knew this would happen Freddie,” said George, shaking his head solemnly.

“We really should have prepared ourselves more for this inevitable betrayal,” added Fred woefully.

“Our little Hermione, a swotty Prefect.”

“No more fun.”

“No more laughs.”

“Oh the laughs we’ve had,” bemoaned George wistfully, throwing himself dramatically onto Fred’s shoulder.

“You two are ridiculous—” Hermione shook her head, unable to stop the smile from forming on her face “—I told you before. Just because I’m a Prefect doesn’t mean I’m going to stop being fun—”

“You were fun before?” asked Ron cheekily, entering the hallway with a cauldron cake in hand.

Hermione scowled at him. “Ha, ha, very funny Ron. You know, you’re a Prefect too now. You should start practicing a bit more civility.”

Ron smirked, ignoring her comment, and instead taking a bite of the cauldron cake before going over to stand near Tonks and Ginny.

Hermione turned back to the twins who stared down at her expectantly, waiting to hear the rest of the speech she’d given at least three times over since she’d received the letter with her silver Prefect pin. “Now, as I was saying. I’m not going to turn into a monster. Just realize that I have an obligation to the school first and I won’t hesitate to reprimand you if need be.”

“Reprimand, you hear that Freddie?” asked George with an impish expression.

“Sure did Georgie,” answered Fred, looking equally as puckish.

“What are you going to do, Hermione?”

“Give us a bit of a spanking?”

Hermione blushed, furiously and against her better judgement. But she was more well-versed in the ways of the Weasley twins and so her embarrassment did not stop her from responding like it might have in previous years. Instead, she looked up confidently at the two and tried to put on what she could only imagine was a semblance of seduction. “Only if you’ve been bad boys.”

The twins balked at her comment, mouths hanging open and ears tinging pink in a fashion very similar to Ron but very unfamiliar to them. Fred and George Weasley did not get embarrassed easily. If they had any kind of response, there was no time for it. A moment later, Mrs. Weasley came into the hallway from the kitchen and Harry came down the stairs. Walburga was still screaming insults from the wall, but all ears were trained on Mrs. Weasley’s instructions on who was going with who to King’s Cross and what to do with their trunks.

A whirlwind of people, crosswalks, and magical barriers and Hermione was finally on Platform 9 ¾. In a way, Hermione was glad they had walked to the train station. It had given her a sense of control on how quickly they reached the train and she had practically run the entire way, Mr. Weasley and Ron on her heel. Once the stress of getting on the train was gone, Hermione was faced with a whole slew of new worries. Sirius had insisted on coming to the station with them and had done his absolute most to stand out like a sore thumb in his Animagus form.

“He shouldn’t have come with us,” she said, watching the black dog chase the train exuberantly, as they took off from King’s Cross. The students in the train watched it laughing, and even some of the parents left on the platform smiled at the rambunctious dog. They wouldn’t be so cheerful if they knew it was Sirius Black, escaped Azkaban prisoner, thought Hermione cynically.

“Oh give him a break. He hasn’t seen daylight in ages. Just blowing off a bit of steam he is,” said Ron, continuing to smile out the window at the dog quickly dwindling in size as the train travelled further from the station.

“Well, as much as we’ve enjoyed your company these past few months, Georgie and I have some important business with people who well…”

“— _aren’t_ you lot,” George finished for Fred, giving them a short wave before the pair of them turned and disappeared into the next carriage.

Hermione sighed, not even wanting to begin to think of the trouble they were sure to get up to. Over the remaining month they’d managed to nearly perfect their line of Skiving Snacks and have an admirable inventory at their dispense. As a Prefect, Hermione tried not to think about it. The less she knew, the better.

“Should we find a compartment then?” asked Harry, turning to her and Ron looking the most cheerful he had all summer. It made what Hermione had to say next even harder. She chanced a look at Ron who was looking equally as guilty.

“Oh…Harry. I thought you knew. Ron and I have to go to the Prefect’s carriage,” she said, watching the smile fall from Harry’s face. She looked back to Ron, hoping for some support but he was looking anywhere but Harry, focusing intently on one of the wall-mounted light fixtures as if he were seeing it for the first time.

“Oh—” Harry nodded “—right. Fine.

“I don’t think we’ll have to be there the whole time. Just long enough to get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then we have to patrol the corridors from time to time. We can still—”

“It’s fine,” said Harry, cutting her off. He was using the clipped, overtly chipper tone he used when he was trying too hard to sound casual. “I might see you later then.”

“Yeah, definitely!” Ron finally chimed in. “It’s a shame we have to go down there. I’d rather we didn’t, but…we have to. I guess…I mean I’m not enjoying it. I’m not bloody Percy.”

Harry smiled again, this time in amusement at Ron’s rambling. “I know you’re not,” he said before waving them off to the Prefect compartment.

Despite his reassurances that he was fine, Hermione felt guilty for leaving Harry there on his own.

“He’ll be alright,” said Ron, leading her down the corridor towards the front of the train where the Prefect carriage waited for them. “I’m sure he’ll find Seamus or Dean or Neville or someone.”

“Oh right…”

It was easy to forget that they all had other friends outside of their small inner circle. Especially since for the longest time, Ron and Harry were her _only_ friends. At least, her only close friends. Neville was her friend, she supposed. As were Fay and Emmy. She might even stretch as far as to say Lavender and Pavarti were her friends as well. Well…maybe more like close acquaintances.

“Who do you think they chose for Slytherin Prefects?” Ron asked as they neared the front of the train.

“With our luck it’ll be Malfoy and Parkinson,” grumbled Hermione, reaching the door to the Prefect’s compartment and sliding it open. It was almost poetic the way the moment the words left her mouth, the opening compartment door revealed none other than the two Slytherins in question. They sat in the corner, side-by-side, looking bored and smug. Their expressions only seemed to lighten when they spotted Ron and Hermione entering the compartment.

“And I thought being a Prefect was supposed to be a place of honour—” Malfoy sneered, looking her and Ron up and down in a condescending manner “—now that I know they’ll give the job to just anyone, it takes away a bit of the prestige.”

Pansy snickered.

“Funny, I was just thinking the exact same thing,” Hermione spat back, staring Malfoy in the eye as she tried to telepathically burn him alive. If ever there was a time for emotion-fuelled accidental magic, thought Hermione, now would be it.

“How _dare_ you, you—”

“Now, now—” cut in Roger Davies, a seventh year Ravenclaw and the newly appointed Head Boy “—leave the house rivalry for the classroom and the quidditch pitch.” Davies laughed, but Hermione could see the nervous glint in his eye as he gripped his wand tightly.

“Bloody git,” Ron mumbled under his breath. Hermione didn’t know whether he was referring to Malfoy or Davies, but either way Hermione felt like it was fitting. The rest of the compartment seemed to feel the same as her, as both the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Prefects were giving Davies wary looks while trying to create as much space as possible between themselves and the Slytherins. Hermione was grateful to see that the other Prefects were familiar faces. Padma Patil, Pavarti’s sister, was the spitting image of her twin and gave Hermione a small wave as she sat down. Hermione, while having limited interaction with the Ravenclaw, found that she liked her much more than Pavarti as they had a shared interest for learning. Anthony Goldstein, the other Ravenclaw Prefect, she recognized from Transfiguration classes years prior. He also gave them a brief greeting. Ernie MacMillan was there too, and while Hermione still didn’t care for him since his spread of lies about Harry their second year, his presence was soothed by the kind and quiet Hannah Abbott who sat next to him.

“Now!” exclaimed Helen Monroe, the Head Girl, some time later. They were coming near to the end of their meeting, or at least that’s what Hermione assumed based on the agenda they had been given. Their meeting had taken much longer than either Hermione or Ron had anticipated. Ashamedly she thought of Harry sitting on his own in a compartment waiting for them. Merlin she hoped he had found someone to sit with instead of choosing to mope by himself. Maybe Fred and George had found him at the very least.

“The last thing on our agenda we’d like to address before handing out patrol and meeting schedules is an issue of favouritism,” said Monroe with a smiling face.

“Favouritism? What do ya mean?” asked Ernie, sounding affronted as if he’d just been personally accused of the offense.

“Well, in the past we’ve had issues with Prefects showing house favouritism—”

“—giving points where they’re undeserved and taking points away to give their house a leg up on winning the House Cup,” chimed in Davies.

“And we just wanted to remind you that your responsibility is to the _school_ and it’s _students_ first and foremost. So please try and show some sense of neutrality, no matter who is involved, whether it’s those in your house or…family members…” Monroe shot a nervous look in Ron’s direction that Ron missed but Hermione did not.

For a second she wondered if perhaps they were talking about Harry, given he was so prone to getting in trouble and then the truth of the implication hit her square in the face. Maybe she _was_ spending too much time with Fred and George otherwise, she would have caught on immediately that that was exactly who the Heads were referring to. Hermione wanted to laugh. She almost did. Bringing a hand up to cover her mouth, she faked a cough to try and hide the bout of giggles threatening to escape her chest.

They were given their schedules after that. Hermione and Ron had the first set of patrols up and down the train, and so instead of heading straight towards Harry, they meandered down from the head of the train, peaking into compartments, and breaking up little spats between younger students. Ron seemed to take to the position of power quite well. Almost too well in some instances, Hermione having to remind him of the speech they’d _just_ been given about abuse of power in favour of their house. He had been trying to take points from a group of third year Slytherins for being too loud – an offense that Hermione deemed worthy of a simple reminder. They were about halfway down the train, Ron trying to reverse a jelly-legs curse that had been set on a fourth year Ravenclaw by accident, when a compartment slid open and Hermione nearly collided with Angelina Johnson.

“Oh!—” the Gryffindor chaser exclaimed, stopping short “—Hermione. Hi.”

“Hi…” Hermione responded awkwardly, unsure of what to say. Suddenly she was very nervous, which was ridiculous because she had nothing to be nervous about! It’s not like her and Fred had really done anything. Intimate? Sure. But in a friendly sort of way. Nothing that when taken into context could be deemed inappropriate, reasoned Hermione. Although, if that were true then she wouldn’t have anything to be nervous about.

“How was your summer?” the older girl asked.

The question took Hermione by surprise. Why did Angelina Johnson care about her summer? They weren’t friends, and up until that point Hermione was under the impression that Johnson didn’t even like her all that much.

“Fine. I spent most of it with Ron’s family,” Hermione said, trying to push past how odd it felt to be having a conversation with Fred’s girlfriend when she was madly in love with him and had spent most of her summer nights curled up on a couch or in his bed with him. In a totally appropriate way of course.

“I thought you might have. George mentioned one time that you usually visit them during the summer,” said Johnson, nodding and looking nervously around them.

“How was your summer? I heard you spent it at quidditch camp. How was that?” Hermione asked, trying to bridge the uncomfortable silence between them with polite conversation. Why were they still talking?

“It was good. Yeah, really good. I learned a lot of…stuff.”

Hermione nodded, raising her eyebrows in acknowledgement. When Johnson neglected to continue, Hermione glanced back in the compartment where Ron was patting an exhausted looking Ravenclaw student on the back, having just broken the curse. She wished he’d hurry up and save her from whatever was going on right then. Her attention was pulled back to the uncomfortable conversation when Johnson spoke once again.

“Listen, Granger. Now that I’ve got you, I was wondering…” Johnson paused, seeming to contemplate her next words. “I was just wondering whether—”

“There you are!” Ron exclaimed, exiting the compartment behind Hermione, and placing a hand on her shoulder. “You know, I really could have used your help in there. You’re much better at counter-curses than me Hermione. Oh, hi Johnson.”

The older girl seemed to go all rigid and awkward at the appearance of Ron. She shifted from foot to foot and cleared her throat before straightening her position and taking on a completely different demeanour. “Weasley. How was your summer?”

“Good, thanks. Not as good as yours I imagine. Quidditch camp! That must have been amazing!” mooned Ron, getting a sparkly look to his eye at the thought.

“Yeah, it was great. Learned loads of stuff that should be sure to put Gryffindor in the lead this year. We need a new Keeper now that Oli, I mean—” Johnson coughed “—now that Wood’s gone. Will you be following the Weasley legacy and trying out?”

Ron went red around the ears, ducking his head bashfully. “Actually, yeah. I thought I might.”

“Good. I look forward to seeing what you’ve got,” said Johnson with finality before giving them both a small nod and moving past them down the train corridor.

As strange as the interaction had been, only one thing seemed to stick with Hermione in that moment.

“You didn’t tell me you were planning on trying out for the team!”

* * *

Fred reckoned he should have known the minute Angelina neglected to show up to their usual compartment that something was up. Alicia had given some offhanded excuse of Angelina going to scout out compartments for potential quidditch recruits and Fred had bought it at face value. In the past he might have questioned it a bit more, gone looking for his long-time friend and currently girlfriend. But in a way it had been a relief for him to not have to deal with the issue of Angelina the moment he got on the train. He was much too excited to show Lee and Alicia their new products and didn’t want to sully it by breaking up with his girlfriend. It had been a long-time coming. He’d wanted to end things weeks ago but had ultimately decided that he couldn’t do it over letter. Him and Angelina had history and she definitely deserved more than a letter saying **_‘Hey, this isn’t working. Mind if we just go back to being friends?’_**. Not to mention the girl got harder and harder to reach as the summer went on. The last letter she’d sent him had been nothing but a picture of her and the beater for the Holyhead Harpies with the words ‘ ** _Isn’t this rad? Missing you lots! x Angelina_** ’ written on the back. And while it _was_ cool, Fred couldn’t help but think that in a way it was a finality to their relationship for him. The two of them had never really been gossipy conversationalists, falling back more on their shared physical activities and the comfortable silence that came with old friendships, but this was a bit too sparse for him. He wanted more. He wanted something different. He wanted…Hermione.

Luckily after the reveal of their new products, Lee wasted no time in bringing other students into their compartment to show off their goods. Before Fred knew it, he and George were completely immersed in their salesmen roles and so all thoughts of girls and relationships were quickly replaced with galleons, sickles, and knuts.

By the time he and George had made it to the castle their pockets were significantly heavier and their spirits lighter than ever. They were almost completely out of fake wands, biting teacups, and spitting teapots. They had even been convinced by a group of second year Hufflepuffs to sell some of their Skiving Snack Box products – the sweets not yet fully through trial runs. Fred and George agreed but only if they were willing to report back on the effects. The students were happy to do so as it meant they got the sweets at a discount.

The next clue that went unnoticed by Fred was the fact that Angelina chose to sit at the opposite end of the table as him at the feast. But Fred had been too excited, telling Hermione all about their sales, to notice. Besides, Alicia and Lee were sitting with her and Fred and George usually sat with their family at the start-of-term feast. Still, when Fred caught Angelina’s eye at the end of the table as the last of the first years took their seats, he found himself panicked at the odd look on his girlfriend’s face. Did she know? wondered Fred feeling the all too familiar summersault in his stomach. How could she possibly know? The only person who knew he wanted to break up with her was himself. He hadn’t even told George, although he suspected that George suspected as much.

The churning sensation stuck with him all throughout dinner and resulted in him eating very little, something that did not go unnoticed by neither George nor Hermione.

“You alright, mate? You barely touched your porkchops,” said George, licking the last of his chocolate ice cream from the back of his spoon.

“Yes, and you didn’t even fight Ron for the last of the custard,” added Hermione, her comment touching Fred as she had remembered custard was the only pudding he really cared for.

“I’m fine. My stomach’s just a bit upset,” he lied, chewing on the side of his thumb as he stared down at the table, tracing the grain of the wood with his eyes.

“Maybe you should go and see Madame Pomfrey once the feast is over,” suggested Ginny kindly. Fred shot her an appreciative smile before returning his gaze to the table.

“Well, now that our stomachs are full and our hearts are warm from friendly conversation, I’d like to take a moment of your time to go over the usual start-of-term announcements,” Professor Dumbledore’s gentle yet authoritative voice rang throughout the hall, pulling all attention to himself at the centre of the staff table. He went into his usual diatribe on how the Forbidden Forest was of course, forbidden, how Filch wanted to remind them that magic was off-limits in the corridors between classes, etc. etc. Lastly, he announced that there would be two changes in staffing: Professor Grubbly-Plank was back to take over his position as the teacher for Care of Magical Creatures, and their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was a woman named Professor Umbridge.

At the mention of her name, Fred looked down the staff table for the first time that night to see a new addition. A stout, round woman in a garish-looking pink outfit sat where the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher usually did. Despite her loud outfit she had a very unpleasant look about her, decided Fred. Although, it didn’t really make much of a difference to him. They had a new Defense teacher just about every year now and seeing as it was his last year, it really was inconsequential. They were all the same in the end.

“Hey, I know her,” commented Harry. “She was at my hearing at the ministry.”

Fred found that kind of odd. What was a ministry official doing teaching at Hogwarts?

Dumbledore moved on, beginning to talk about quidditch try-outs when the new DADA teacher did something that made her stick out from all the other defense teachers before her. She stood from her seat. Dumbledore stopped, midsentence and looked at the short woman. Professor Umbridge let out a, “ _Hem, hem,_ ” and Fred thought for a second that he must be hallucinating. Was this woman really interrupting the headmaster to give some kind of speech? More gracious than Fred could ever imagine to be, Dumbledore allowed her to speak and speak she did.

Her speech was long-winded, full of comments about Hogwarts’s greatness and how the Ministry placed a lot of stake into the education of young minds. It sounded like a lot of hot air in Fred’s opinion and one glance around the room at the other student’s and even some of the teacher’s faces told him that he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. When Professor Umbridge had the audacity to say that she hoped they would all become great friends Fred couldn’t help but utter a sarcastic, “That’s likely” which was mimicked in time by George as well.

Then she spoke of progress and change and how things must be done for the better and Fred felt an all-new unease take over him. An unease that radiated throughout the entirety of the room for once she had finished and taken her seat, the hall was much quieter than before.

“Well that was certainly illuminating,” Hermione whispered from beside him.

“Don’t tell me you enjoyed that shite,” said Ron exasperatedly. “That had to be the most boring thing I’ve ever heard.

“I said it was illuminating, not good,” sniped Hermione. “It certainly put things into perspective.”

“It did?” asked Harry. “Sounded like a load of waffle to me.”

“Yes, well there was a lot of important stuff in all that waffle if you’d been listening,” said Hermione, her mood turning dark. She had Fred’s attention now as well.

“There was?” asked Ron dumbly.

“All that talk of ‘progress for the sake of progress’ and ‘practices that must be prohibited’?”

Ron and Harry shrugged at her, but Fred was beginning to understand what Hermione was getting at. If Umbridge worked for the ministry and believed that changes needed to be made at Hogwarts then—

“It means the Ministry’s interfering at Hogwarts,” said Hermione, surmising Fred’s conclusion perfectly.

The room burst into applause, Dumbledore having finished the last of his announcements and then students began to rise from their seats. Ron and Hermione stood, leaving to escort the first years back to Gryffindor tower. Fred laughed with George when Hermione looked like she was about to lose her head when Ron called the first years ‘midgets’. Turning his head away from the squabbling pair, his eyes fell once again on Angelina.

Fred swallowed thickly.

If ever there was a time, it was now. He should just do it. Get it over with. Break her heart and hope that they could move on. Trying to find the bright side to it, he told himself that the sooner he ended things with Angelina, the sooner he could begin pursuing Hermione. However, that only left him with even sweatier palms. Standing up from the table, he looked between George and Angelina with the full intent to cross the room and ask his girlfriend to speak in private. But instead,

“Alright, Freddie!” he announced loudly, catching George off guard. His twin looked up from the conversation he’d been having with Ginny and looked at him curiously. “I’ll see you in the common room. I have a few things I need to take care of first.”

Before his brother had any time to question what he was doing, Fred flew from the Great Hall and past Angelina, avoiding looking in her direction as he turned the corner and headed towards an unknown direction. He had only gone a little way down the corridor when a voice called after him.

“George! Wait up!”

Fred stopped and turned to see Angelina running after him. What could Angelina possibly want with George, Fred thought for a moment as he watched the pretty witch approach him, her long braids bouncing off her shoulders. She looked nervous when she finally reached him. Her hands twisted together, and her eyes couldn’t quite meet his.

“That’s me, George. What’s up?” Fred asked, wanting to kick himself. Coward. He was a coward.

“Can I…can I talk to you for a second about…Fred?”

“What about Fred?” Fred asked, feeling incredibly stuck in the lie he’d created.

“Um, you know how I was at quidditch camp this summer?” asked Angelina, looking around them and grabbing Fred’s arm, pulling them over to an alcove away from prying ears and eyes. “And you know how Oliver was there?”

“Yeah…” said Fred, feeling the blood drain from his body. His limbs had gone all cold and his fingers all numb and tingly.

“Well, something might have happened.”

“Something? What kind of something?”

“Like I might have, I guess you could say I might have cheated?”

“Might have or did? Those are two _very_ different things Angelina,” said Fred, speaking now more as himself than as himself pretending to be George.

“Okay, I did! I cheated!” admitted Angelina, bringing her hands up to cover her face in shame.

“With Oliver Wood?!”

“I know! I know! It just sort of…happened. Oli and I, we’re—”

“Oh, so it’s Oli now?” asked Fred, feeling his temper bubble.

“Look, I know you’re angry. I mean, Fred’s your brother after all.”

Oh, right. She still thought he was George. Well this certainly threw a wrench in things. “Don’t you think this is something you should be telling _him_ and not…me?” asked Fred, feeling slightly confused as he tried to wrap his head around processing the fact that his girlfriend had cheated on him with _Oliver Wood,_ and that she had no idea she was speaking to him and not his brother.

“Yes, and I want to, but George. We’re friends too right? And you know him better than anyone. I was hoping you might know how to break this to him as easily as possible,” Angelina pleaded, looking imploringly into his eyes.

Before Fred could even begin to figure out how to answer that, both his saving grace and downfall came all at once in the form of the real George Weasley.

“You alright Freddie? What are you two up to then?” asked George, looking innocently between the two of them, tucked into the alcove.

Angelina looked between George, the real George, and Fred who she now was beginning to realize was the one standing before her. Fred watched as the realization took over her and then how fear replaced confusion in her eyes before she muttered, “Well, fuck.”

The conversation at that point had been a bit stale. Fred reckoned he might have gotten more answers out of her if George hadn’t come along and blown his act, but it was probably for the best. The more Fred thought about it, the less he really wanted to know. Still, some things stuck with him. What did Oliver Wood have that he didn’t?

“I mean, it’s _Wood!_ ” cried Fred for the tenth time that night, laying face up, wrong way on his bed, head hanging off the end.

“I know mate, I know,” responded George, continuing to unpack his and Fred’s trunk. A nicety Fred figured he was only giving considering his current predicament.

“Maybe she’s bewitched or something,” suggested Lee kindly from across the room.

“Yeah, maybe she’s under some kind of potion or spell. How else could a prat like that land Angelina?” added George.

“I don’t know, Fred managed to land her just fine,” said Kenneth Towler, earning a round of glares from everyone in the room.

“Shut it, Towler,” warned George, but he had gotten Fred’s attention now.

Lifting his head till it was level with his body, Fred looked at the bookish boy with narrowed eyes. “What are you trying to say Kenneth?”

Kenneth laughed, a short and breathy scoff, shaking his head from side to side. “Have you ever considered that maybe Wood’s just better than you?”

The room was silent. Shocked at Towler’s words and more importantly in anticipation for how Fred would respond. Fred too was curious as to how he would react. Digging deep within himself he searched for anger, sadness, envy, but he found none of it. Instead, he laughed. A full body, side aching laugh that sent him toppling out of his bed and wiping at tears at the corner of his eyes. George and Lee joined in, followed shortly by Towler himself. When Fred finally calmed down enough to catch his breath he was on the floor, back leaning against the foot of his bed and one knee bent upwards to support his left arm.

“Yeah, you might be right there Towler,” he sighed, feeling better than he had a few minutes previously.

Despite his ability to laugh at the situation that night, Fred couldn’t help but mope the next day. Sure, he was planning on breaking up with Angelina as well, but it still hurts to get dumped _and_ cheated on. Especially when the other man was your old quidditch captain. Not to mention, in a way he felt like it was slightly expected of him. In true Hogwarts fashion everyone knew the tale of him and Angelina and more importantly his mistaken identity. It had turned into a bit of a joke really and by dinner the next night people were saying things like “Just make sure it’s _actually_ them and not their twin” when someone planned to meet with someone.

It wasn’t particularly clever, Fred thought. Surely he and George could have come up with something much better if it had happened to someone else. But it hadn’t happened to someone else. It had happened to him, and he wasn’t about to throw fire to the flame by making a better joke that would surely stick around much longer. That just wouldn’t be fair to Angelina, who was already looking about as miserable as you could. It was clear she was embarrassed and guilty. Several points throughout the day Fred thought about putting her out of her misery and telling her not to feel bad. Maybe if he had been a better boyfriend she wouldn’t have been seduced away by another man. Maybe she could tell that his heart wasn’t truly in their relationship and therefore it was easier for her to be unfaithful. Still, _he_ had been the one who’s heart wasn’t in it and he hadn’t been shoving his tongue down Hermione’s throat all summer. This was a new fact he had unwillingly learned from a few Gryffindor sixth year girls gossiping too loudly in the corridor before dinner.

Once at dinner and knowing this fact, Fred longed for distraction. Glancing around he noticed that Hermione was noticeably absent. Of course she would be gone on the one day he needed the comfort of her ability to go on and on about whatever subject he asked her about.

“Say, where’s Hermione?” Fred asked Ron and Harry as casually as he could.

Harry shrugged but Ron answered, “Library maybe? That’s where she was last I saw her. You know how she gets.”

“Maybe I should go get her? Make sure she doesn’t accidentally miss dinner,” Fred said, standing from the table.

George gave him a knowing look. “Is that all?”

“Dinner is the most important meal of the day Georgie,” said Fred, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“I thought that was breakfast,” said George back, smiling now.

“Yeah, and I thought you weren’t a huge dickhead. I guess we’re both wrong.” And with that Fred spun on his heel and exited the Great Hall.

Fred made it halfway to the library when he began to notice something very odd. The air had begun to thicken, a layer of fog soon surrounding him. Very shortly after his shoes started to make a wet splashing sound with every step. Looking down the corridor through the hazy fog, he realized that the floor was covered in water. A few steps further in and he realized that it was beginning to deepen. Something brushed his left hand and Fred jumped, spinning quickly, and pulling out his wand only to find a cattail. What was a cattail doing in a Hogwarts corridor?

“ _Lumos_ ,” he muttered, the tip of his wand glowing brilliantly and illuminating the corridor ahead of him. But he did not see a corridor. Or at least not the corridor he expected to see. No, instead the hall seemed to be transformed into what could only be described as a swamp with an expanse of still water covered by lily pads, cattails, and moss-covered logs. To top it all off, if he focused hard enough and held his breath, Fred could make out the croaks of toads in the distance.

“What?” muttered Fred aloud in confusion.

“Oh no, you weren’t supposed to see it until after dinner with everyone else,” whined a voice from behind him. Fred spun, his wand illuminating the face of Hermione Granger. She stood a few feet away, hands clasped behind her back as she frowned in his direction.

“You did this?” he asked in shock.

Hermione’s frown quickly morphed into a very proud smile and she nodded enthusiastically. “It’s a portable swamp. I’ve been working on it all summer. It was supposed to be yours and George’s Christmas present – you know, for the business.”

“Why?” asked Fred, unable to really form full sentences from shock.

“I heard about what happened with Angelina and I figured you might need some cheering up. I was hoping you’d get to see it for the first time when everyone else found it, but this is nice too. At least this way you won’t accidentally fall into it. A foot further and the water depth drops to about four feet,” she informed him casually, although the smug expression on her face told him she felt very proud of herself.

Fred took a quick step away from the water and towards Hermione, not wanting to chance falling in. He stared at the witch before him, wide-eyed and speechless.

“Do you like it?” Hermione asked, looking a bit nervous now as he had yet to make any real comment on her brilliant invention.

Like it? He loved it! It was probably the nicest gift anyone had ever given him. How could he even begin to express how grateful he was? He was so happy he could kiss her. In fact…

Fred leaned down, wrapping his arms tightly around Hermione and lifting her off of the ground as he claimed her mouth. The kiss was hard and overly enthusiastic at first, but in almost no time they were swept back into the memory of their first kiss all those months ago and they melted into each other like there had been no time between them. A single continuous kiss that went on for seasons. A kiss that Fred never wanted to end as he held Hermione tightly and snogged the living daylights out of her. Unfortunately, the kiss did have to end. A distant murmur of voices sounded from somewhere near by and they broke apart panting. Hermione’s lips were red and swollen and parted in a surprised expression when he carefully placed her down on the ground. They took a moment to just stare at each other, both surprised and delighted in what had just happened. But then the voices grew louder, and they knew they had to go. Fred held out his hand, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Hermione took it firmly, smiling bigger than he’d ever seen. Then they were off, running down the corridors and away from the scene of the crime. Through the halls of stone floors, ancient tapestries, and regal portraits they ran, laughing like school children. Which in a way, Fred supposed they still were.


End file.
